


The Love of a Galaxy

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alien!Reader, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on Quotev, Fluff, LGBTQ Character, Mild Language, Multi, Past Torture, Racially Ambiguous Reader, Temporary Character Death, slightly OOC, temporary relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-05 21:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 71,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18837286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (Y/N) Taeven's been through a lot in her life, that's for sure. With the loss of her parents and home planet at an early age, her involuntary 'adoption' into Thanos' league of supervillains and assassins, and the absolute destruction of her innocence and childhood, it didn't seem like anything could've gotten any worse. Then, she crash-landed on Earth- practically in SHIELD's backyard. Join her on the journey from her own story to Endgame and beyond.║Wanda Maximoff/Reader/James Buchanan Barnes║I haven't gotten any better at summaries, if you haven't noticed, so please don't judge the content of my story by the sucky summary above.I do not own Marvel or any of their characters, just my oc's and some of the plotline (which follows the MCU from The Avengers (2012) to either Endgame (2019) or Spiderman: Far From Home (2019))Cross-Posted on Quotev.





	1. Chapter 1

   

        Two years.

        Gamora had been on Thanos' ship for two years. She counted the weeks, days, minutes, hours... how long would it be until she could leave?

        According to the others, the answer was never.

        She wasn't the only child Thanos had taken and adopted, that was for sure. There were plenty of them, all sorts of people from all over the galaxy. All of them were under ten years old in zehoberei age, young enough to be dependent on their new 'father' and old enough to be useful for his needs.

        Gamora didn't know what to do.

        Everything was confusing. She knew, deep inside her chest, that Thanos was not a good man. Back on Zen-Whoberi, he had tried to hide his true purpose from her by covering her eyes and showing her a pretty trinket. Nothing he did could have blocked out the horrified screams of her people as they were slaughtered in cold blood, shot down in the village square.

        Thanos didn't know what she knew. Didn't see what she saw. Didn't hear what she heard.

        Gamora was much smarter than he thought.

        Still, intelligence didn't change the fact that she had absolutely no idea what was going on.

        Nobody, not even the luphomoid girl who slept in the same room as she did and seemed to be slightly reasonable, would tell her a thing. Whenever she asked a question of her new 'family', as Thanos called them, she would get cut off or shut up almost immediately. One of the rules was clearly 'no questions asked'.

        Gamora  _hated_ it.

        And she refused to comply with whatever they wanted her to do.

        Her mother...  _her mother._

        Dead, because of this monster who called himself a hero. A savior. _Salvation_.

        No, there was no salvation in Thanos. There was only pain, and death, and loss. Countless orphans and widows yet to be made, all for one man's selfish desires. 

        Thanos had to be stopped. Gamora knew this. She just hoped someone else figured out how to before it was too late, because there was no way a nine year old girl would be able to stop him on her own.

        Fortunately, she wouldn't have to.

❖ ❖ ❖

        Xharei was a gorgeous planet. All of its inhabitants thought so; the matter was undisputed. With lush green forests, fertile farmland, several large markets, and some of the most beautiful cities in the galaxy, even an outsider couldn't disagree. Many were jealous of the abundance of blessings that had been rained down on Xharei's people.

        Not any more.

        Screams echoed through the main square as people were ripped from their houses and dragged into orderly rows, held at gunpoint by Chitauri soldiers. The threat of death was imminent for every person who was unlucky enough to be caught.

        The entire population was in danger of extinction.

        A woman fell, her eyes flashing with terror as a footsoldier stomped over to where she lay and forced her to stand. Another tried to use her manipulation, hands extended in a Chitauri's direction as she attempted to rip him to shreds. A smoking hole appeared neatly in her temple, sending her crashing to the ground in a graceless heap.

        Men, women, and children flooded the square like ants trying to escape from rain, herded there by Thanos' forces. They were paraded past where the warlord himself stood and forced to stand in a pair of columns that formed an aisle straight down the middle of the square. It was like the central passage in a church or a castle, lending gravity to the illusion that Thanos had already won.

         _(Y/N)_ watched with wide eyes, her slitted pupils dialating and widening repeatedly from her hiding place behind a pile of rubble that had once been a white marble statue of a large hare. Her hair was speckled with dust and splatters of crimson blood soaked her clothes. 

        Fortunately, it wasn't hers.

        It was her father's.

        She didn't cry, didn't make a sound. There was no use in mourning a dead man if she was to join him soon enough.

        So  _(Y/N)_ waited. She watched as people continued to stream into the square, tearful and shaking, calling out for loved ones. They were saying good-bye for the last time. Everyone knew what was about to happen.

        And so did she.

        They had heard stories as word traveled from planet to planet. Stories of an insane man known as the Mad Titan, a tyrant whose mission was to ultimately wipe out half of the universe. He wanted a perfect balance, and the only way he could get it was through death and destruction. So he traveled across the galaxy, wiping out entire populations. He toppled empires that had stood for eons and stomped civilizations into the ground so that they were nothing but the dust beneath his feet, then moved on to the next planet in his path of destruction. First had been the zehoberei people, then the luphomoids, then the draians... the list went on and on. With every planet decimated, the Mad Titan came one step closer to attaining his final goal.

         _(Y/N)_ , in all her six years of living, had never expected Xharei to be next on the roster.

        No, certainly not. Because nobody wanted to scare the children by telling them about the ships that had been sighted on Xharei's horizon only hours before the attack itself. Nobody had wanted to prepare. Nobody had done what they should have. The adults weren't being the adults.

        She was terrified. Too young to be dealing with this sort of thing, there was really nothing she could do to fight. As  _(Y/N)_ was still in her first decade of life, her powers weren't fully developed yet. It was unlikely for her to even be able to use them; she had never tried.

        And this wasn't exactly a good time to start.

        Another beam of light, shot from the Chitauri guns, flew over  _(Y/N)_ 's head and crashed straight into a stone altar. She squeaked and ducked her head down as shards of shrapnel flew through the air, carving a stripe in her cheekbone that was quickly filled with blood. A single small hand came up to brush over the broken skin. It came away red.

        A small gasp slipped past her lips.  _(Y/N)_ clapped both hands over her mouth, ignoring the blood, as if the action would take back the noise and keep it from being heard.

        Luck, it seemed, was not on her side that day.

        The Chitauri responsible for the gash on  _(Y/N)_ 's face and the destroyed alter moved quickly, vaulting over the pile of rubble and curling a clawed hand around her upper arm.  _(Y/N)_ screamed as sharp nails dug into her skin and she was dragged out of her hiding place and across the square, kicking and biting the whole way. Her little braids whipped around, smacking her face and the Chitauri's leg.

        Faces flashed by. Most of them were unfamiliar, or people she had never really gotten to know. The woman at the market who always gave her free fruits when she came by on her way to the bakery, the man who let her pet his animals, a young woman with abnormally large eyes who normally sat on the steps to the library, doing her homework.

        Others were much more recognizable.

        Her mother, standing on the front lines, wailing and reaching for her little daughter. The circles beside her eyes were glowing red with anger, tinged with a bit of blue sadness.

         _(Y/N)_ wished she could help. Her own circles shone with their usual silver- nonchalant, nondescript, calm. Unchanging.

        Desren Kaire, her neighbor. His little body was squished between his own mother and father in the crowd. He watched with parted lips and wide eyes. Three years her senior, he seemed less prepared for death than she was.

         _(Y/N)_ forced a small smile and twitched her fingers in a wave, motioning to him that she was fine. The sensation of blood dripping down her cheek seemed to prove the opposite, but she ignored it.

        The Chitauri began to swerve into the crowd, preparing to shove her into the mass of people, but a large voice interupted its movement and stopped  _(Y/N)_ 's blood in her veins.

         _ **"Bring the little one to me."**_

        It was easily recognizable. There's only one being in the universe that can control the Chitauri like that, make a soldier do his bidding with a single command. A deep baritone resonated across the square, rendering terrified citizens silent so that the only sound was that of the Chitauri forces mumbling among themselves and the wind whistling through ruins of Apa Ka'ar.

        The city had been leveled.

        And there he stood at the head of it all. His heavy boots rested on a raised platform with a broken throne in the center, the throne that was reserved for elders and leaders. Defaced and destroyed. A symbol.

        Purple skin glowed in the bright sunlight, offset by armor that seemed to exude its own light.

        Thanos.

         _(Y/N)_ struggled against the Chitauri's grip, wrenching her arm back and forth to try and free herself, but nothing worked. The creature dragged her up to the platform and discarded her next to Thanos' feet, prompting a death glare and a stuck-out tongue.

        The Mad Titan turned to look down at  _(Y/N)_. His blue eyes were kinder than she had expected, calm and tender. Almost... affectionate.

        He knelt down beside the small girl and reached down to take her hand.  _(Y/N)_ stayed very still, staring up at him with wide, nervous eyes.

         ** _"Hello, little one."_**

"H-hello...?"

         ** _"You have a fighting spirit, don't you? A strong little thing. That's what I'm looking for."_** Thanos paused for a minute, considering the child in front of him.  ** _"Are you afraid of me?"_**

"No!"  _(Y/N)_ shouted defiantly, the glow of her silver circles pulsating in anger. "I'm  _not afraid of you!"_

        He laughed.  ** _"That's good. Very good, little warrior. You have something inside of you that I haven't seen in a very long time._**

**_"Tell me, do you have anyone in the crowds?"_ **

"My mother."

         ** _"I see."_**  Thanos hesitated.  ** _"Let me show you something."_**

 _(Y/N)_ watched as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small object about the size of his middle finger. He placed it in her hands and allowed her to scrutinize it, tracing her fingers over the intricate lattice and blue gemstones.

        The knife was the perfect weight, not too heavy and not too light. Twin blades protruded from the hilt, one on each side, each half sharpened to perfection.

         ** _"See? Look at that. Pretty, isn't it? And watch this, my little warrior."_**

Thanos subtly turned  _(Y/N)_ away from the crowds and motioned for the Chitauri to start shooting. He shielded her view of the square, keeping her focused on the knife as he balanced it carefully on her index finger.

         ** _"There we are. Perfectly balanced, as all things should be. And you, little warrior, seem to have very good balance."_**

 _(Y/N)_  tried to turn around and catch sight of the action behind her, but Thanos gently turned her face with one hand and continued to help her balance the knife.

        Down in the crowd, among the bodies of other Xhareians, Cristal Taeven watched as her daughter was led away by her murderer. Tears shone bright in her eyes. She worked to memorize every part of  _(Y/N)_ , from her shuffling walk to the pair of  _(h/c)_ braids that she had plaited only that morning.

        A soldier leveled its gun at her chest and pulled the trigger without hesitation, and Cristal fell back into the bodies, her eyes already glazing over.

        Her little girl was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

        Black armor definitely matched best.

        That was obvious. The red leather had contrasted too much with  _(Y/N)_ 's hair, the white was stained much too easily, and yellow stood out too much in the field. She wasn't going out to pick daisies in a meadow, she was killing people. 

         _(Y/N)_  refused to even  _think_ about the orange. That certainly hadn't been a pleasant sight.

        But the black definitely suited her needs and wants. Of course, black was the traditional color. The Black Order only ever dressed in the darkest shades they could find, and any other low-level assassin was outfitted in midnight.

        Mercenaries like  _(Y/N)_ were different. Even though she worked under Thanos, and had been for twelve years, she got to make some of her own decisions. Thanos did  _not_ control every aspect of her life, no matter what he thought.

        Well, she wouldn't be working under him for much longer.

        The packed bag was on her cot, filled with the little knick-knacks  _(Y/N)_ had been able to snag over the years to keep her sane. Terran books, little keepsakes from some of the planets she had been able to visit, hairbands and odd bits of jewlery, the list went on and on. Anything and everything she had gotten her hands on from age six wound up in her satchel, packed with extreme caution.

        Of course, among the reminders of her childhood were the less pure objects.

        Guns. Blasters. Knives. Garrotes. Knuckle dusters.

        The spoilers of  _(Y/N)_ 's innocence.

        Sentimentality was worse than actual pain sometimes.

         _(Y/N)_ bit her lip, a single canine piercing the skin and drawing blood to the surface. It was enough to draw her out of her mind and back into reality, the sharpness pulling everything back into focus.

        And _stars_ , did she need to focus.

        After all,  _(Y/N)_ was preparing for the most insanely suicidal escape attempt ever to be attempted.

        The double-edged switchblade sat heavily in her pants pocket, bumping up against her leg with every step she took as if it were a reminder.  _(Y/N)_ reached in and pulled it out, flicking the blade open to inspect both sides.

        As time passed and it was used more often, the weapon's purity had slowly started to degrade. It required more upkeep to maintain, making sure the metal didn't corrode and rust. Stabbing someone with a rusty blade never went well for the wielder.

        Several years ago, the blue stones that were embedded in its hilt had begun to pop out one by one.  _(Y/N)_  knew for a fact that every other child of Thanos had been given a switch, but most of them were used only for show.  _(Y/N)_ used it for what it had been made- killing.

        With a sigh, she twitched her hand gently and placed the closed blade back in her pocket.

        Everything was going to be okay.

❖ ❖ ❖

        The Sanctuary II had to be the size of a small planet, judging from how long it took people to get from one side of the ship to the other. Small aircraft and spacecraft were constantly having to be used to move around, because if they didn't have vehicles, the trip to the bathroom felt more like a small journey.

        It didn't help that Thanos' throne room was in the center of the Sanctuary, which was nearly forty minutes away from  _(Y/N)_ 's room if she ran and didn't stop.

        Fortunately, she didn't have to.

        A small hovership pulled up directly outside of her quarters, the door sliding down to form a ramp so she could step up. The Xhareian people, when they had still been in existence, had always been on the shorter side.  _(Y/N)_ was no exception; her origins showed through in her appearance, accent, and mannerisms.

        The hovership was unmanned and automatic, as per the usual.  _(Y/N)_ sprawled out in the backseat with her legs draped over the two cushions beside her- the perks of being a dangerous mercenary included the threat factor; nobody ever wanted to be near her- and carefully drew a thumb over the sword that hung from her belt. The blade was collapsed so she didn't stab anybody, accidentally or on purpose, but it would grow to three feet long with the push of a button. Three feet of death and cold metal.

        Outside the cab's tinted windows, the staff carried out their everyday routine. A motley assortment of aliens from different planets and reaches of the galaxy worked tirelessly to keep the Sanctuary II in working order. Everything was exactly the way it needed to be at all times. The windows were cleaned so that it didn't even look like they were there. The floors were so shiny  _(Y/N)_ could see her reflection in them and probably could've eaten off of them if she had wanted. Every bulb in the overhead lights had the exact same charge as the others to avoid any confusion- by Thanos' order, they had to be even.  _(Y/N)_ tended to get headaches easily and quickly because of her enhanced vision, and he needed his top mercenary in peak condition.

        A pair of younger recruits, both sporting reptilian features, strolled together in the passageways on their way to work. One of them, a young female, caught sight of  _(Y/N)_ inside the hovercraft and waved a webbed hand. She nodded in reply, sending a restrained smile in the girl's direction.

        The new kids were always like that. They looked at  _(Y/N)_  and saw someone like them, someone young and fresh.

        They didn't know who she actually was or what she had done. When they found out, their reactions changed drastically.

         _(Y/N)_  had learned not to get attatched or offended when some newbie stopped waving to her when she was on her daily commute to Thanos' throne room or flinched when she entered the room.

        The hovercraft slid smoothly to a stop outside of the throne room, and the door slid down again.  _(Y/N)_ stood and half slid, half stepped down to the ground. The metal soles of her shoes were made for traction, but there was none to be gained on the slick floors. Rubber treads would be much more practical.

        Thanos was already sitting on his throne when she strode through the doors, her shoes making a hollow  _clang_ as she made her way to the center of the room. Her backpack hung heavy as a reminder of her impending betrayal, and she had to fight to keep a straight face.  _(Y/N)_ could only hope that her circles wouldn't fail her.

        " _Lord Thanos."_

        Her voice echoed around the empty chamber as she knelt reverently, crossing one arm across her chest and placing her fist on the opposite shoulder.

         ** _"Little Warrior,"_**  Thanos greeted. The titan turned around to face  _(Y/N)_ , a small smile curving across his lips.  _ **"I hope I find you well."**_

        "Of course, my lord."

        Groveling felt  _disgusting_.  _(Y/N)_ would have sooner put a blade through his eye than kneel and kiss up to her parents' killer, but she had no choice. Her cover was more important than her emotions.

         ** _"Good, good. I'm glad to hear it."_**

"As it so pleases you. What may I do for you today?"

         ** _"An excellent question. (Y/N), you've served me well for well over a decade, and I couldn't be prouder of you. Many of my inferiors agree that you've become a true force to be reckoned with. Even my two other prize pupils, Gamora and Nebula, haven't made me as happy as you have."_**

         _(Y/N)_ nodded, but she was unable to hide the disgusted twitch of her lip at the mention of her eldest 'sister'. Gamora had left the Sanctuary II on a mission three years earlier and had never come back. Thanos declared her a traitor and placed a bounty on her head that could've bought a small moon, but nothing had ever come of it.  _(Y/N)_ never forgave her for leaving her alone with only an unstable luphomoid made more of metal than flesh and blood.

        "Thank you." 

        It was hard to hide the thinly-veiled disgust that soaked  _(Y/N)_ 's voice, and she wasn't sure she had been able to do it fully. Thanos didn't seem to notice anything, though, so she was in the safe zone- for the moment, at least.

         ** _"You've earned the praise. Now, I have a mission for you."_**

And there it was. Whoop.

        "Of course, Lord Thanos."

         ** _"Marvelous. Your brother will give you the papers."_**

"Thank you. Is that all?"

         ** _"No. You'll be bringing him with you."_**

 _(Y/N)_ 's blood froze in her veins. She looked up, her rings starting to glow a distinct green color- nausea and horror. She knew that wouldn't tip Thanos off- he had no idea what the colors of Xhareian circles signified- but the sudden change was a definite tell that something had changed drastically.

        "Which brother, sir?"

         ** _"Maw. His powers will be useful on this one, little warrior.:_**

"All due respect, my powers should be enough to take care of whatever you need me to do. I can take care of it without Maw's assistance."

        Thanos nodded contemplatively, placing an elbow on the arm of his chair and cupping his chin in his palm. His expression was nondescript, and when he spoke, his voice betrayed no emotion.

         ** _"Are you defying orders, soldier?"_**

        "My lord, I-"

         ** _"You've been faithful thus far. You've worked under me for over eight years and trained under me for much longer. You aren't having any second thoughts about your life with the Black Order, are you?"_**

**** _Yes._

"Of course not, my lord,"  _(Y/N)_ said submissively. The words were like bile in her throat, burning and giving her mouth a nasty taste. "Never. My loyalty is to you and only to you."

        Lies were often associated with bitter tastes.  _(Y/N)_ had never thought of them as sweet.

         ** _"Excellent. You will take Ebony Maw with you on your mission, little warrior. You'll carry out your orders and report back to the Sanctuary II as soon as possible. No witnesses, no injuries, and no insubordination. Am I clear?"_**

She nodded. "Yes, Lord Thanos."

         _Hell no._

❖ ❖ ❖

        Ebony Maw was, in a word, smarmy. That's the honest-to-god truth. He was smarmy, and slimy, and even the sound of his voice made  _(Y/N)_  want to pull out her blaster and put a hole in his head.

        But according to Thanos, he was also her older brother, so she had to listen to him.

        Disgusting.

        From his disturbing lack of a nose to that weird shock of hair on top of his head that made him look like some sort of seventeenth century bard, he just couldn't stop getting on her nerves. And then there was the accent- it would have been pleasant if it hadn't been coming out of his mouth- and the way he always sounded calm, even if he was suffocating someone.

        The way he used his powers was equally revolting, and highly impractical. Ebony was like a cat playing with its food, luring it into a false sense of security before killing it in the worst way possible.

         _(Y/N)_ knew she was an awful person, but at least  _she_ never caused suffering. Three seconds of focus and  _wham-_ lights out.

        But no matter how much she hated him, she couldn't seem to avoid dragging him along on her mission. So there  _(Y/N)_ sat, one knee almost touching his, her fingers clenched around the ship's control, wanting nothing more than to allow her consciousness to wander for a minute and destroy him.

        Ebony seemed to notice the way anger dripped off of her like a volcano and quickly made himself scarce, excusing himself to attend to his weapons.  _Lies,_ the coward didn't use any weapon but his mind.

        All the better for her.  _(Y/N)_ would always prefer silence and solitude to the company of her sadistic half-brother.

        The absence of Ebony left her to her own devices. With a labored sigh, she sunk down in the pilot's seat and clenched her knees around the wheel, drawing a pair of daggers out of the pocket of her jacket and beginning to sharpen them on each other. With every connection, there was a loud  _screech_ and a shower of sparks.

         _(Y/N)_ hoped Ebony could hear her and was thoroughly bothered. Nothing was better than annoying him until the point of breaking.

        He was being awfully quiet...

        Twisting her knees slightly to avoid a small cluster of asteroids,  _(Y/N)_  raised an eyebrow slightly and turned around in her seat. More than a few seconds of peace with Maw around always led into some sort of conflict, most of which led  _(Y/N)_ to using her powers in a manner she didn't enjoy.

        Well, maybe she enjoyed it a little bit. They were normally followed by an admission of her superiority, so there were pros and cons.

        This time, violence wasn't necessary. Maw had found a little hidey-hole in the corner of  _(Y/N)_ 's ship and was zoned out, hidden away somewhere deep in his mind.

        Pity.

❖ ❖ ❖

        There was the  _slightest_ possibility that  _(Y/N)_ hadn't planned out her escape as thoroughly as she should've.

        First off, Maw wouldn't let her out of his sight. Everywhere she went, she could feel the cold beam of his gaze fixed on her back. There was no way she'd be able to get away from a telekinetic with a god complex and a few screws loose.

        Second, there were a  _lot_ of people on Kharis- the planet she'd been sent to. So many that it couldn't really be considered a coincidence. Every alley and offshoot of the main streets was packed to the brim with citizens, and  _(Y/N)_ could barely take a step in any direction without getting smacked in the face with someone's tentacles or wings.

        That led into the third issue: she didn't exactly blend in. Mercenaries and bounty hunters weren't uncommon in that part of the galaxy, but  _(Y/N)_ wasn't supposed to stay hidden for her mission. The black leather of her fitted armor and the way the circles beside her eyes glowed with a rainbow of colors didn't help with conformity, especially when she considered how she was supposedly the last of her people. No other species or people group had the Xhareians' signature color scales, which made her stick out like a sore thumb.

        Maw had no problem with blending in, though, so everything was 'fine' according to him.  _(Y/N)_  was just thankful that he didn't have telepathy as well as telekinesis.

        As she walked, she reached into her backpack and pulled out the thin sheath of paper and began to read. Everything was fairly straightforward: a group of people were scheduled to dock at one of the main ports on Kharis around sundown, and Thanos wanted them dead.  _(Y/N)_ 's job was to remove them from the balance the minute they touched down and make sure they weren't coming back before reporting back to the Sanctuary II to await orders.

        Nice and easy.

        Or it would've been, if  _(Y/N)_ hadn't been forced to drag her idiot psychopath of a brother alond for the ride. Her plan all along had been to slip away in the chaos after taking out her targets, maybe set off a bomb or two for effect and then swing straight out on a stolen ship.

        Again, it couldn't just be a coincidence that her first mission with another person was the one she had been planning her escape for. Thanos must've found out somehow, must've known and taken preventative measures to stop her from going down the same path as Gamora.

         _(Y/N)_ looked around, carefully scrutinizing her surroundings. It was still around noon so she had a few hours to figure out how in the world she was going to get away from Maw.

        There was a small bar on the corner of the street, dingy and pretty much empty. Dark windows, probably understaffed... perfect.

        "Where are you going?" Maw asked, watching as  _(Y/N)_  veered off of her path in the bar's direction.

        "I'm getting a damn drink."

        "You're on a job."

        "Never stopped me before. We've got a few hours; what else are you gonna do? Sit around and wait for some sort of intergalactic criminals to berate? Watch paint dry?"

        "Lord Thanos-"

        "Doesn't care what I do unless it affects my mission,"  _(Y/N)_ snapped. "You don't have to come, Eb."

        "Ebony Maw."

        "Exactly. You can stay out here and keep watch for space bunnies for all I care. Ya know, if taking out a few pilots is too much"

        "I'll wait outside."

         _(Y/N)_  smirked and patted her brother on the cheek- not gently. "Good call, Eb. I'll be out in an hour or so."

❖ ❖ ❖

         _(Y/N)_ had been right; the bar was the perfect place to lay low. If it had looked small from the outside, it was even smaller on the inside, with only enough room for a counter and a few tables set up near the windows. The only person she could see working there was the bartender, a young man with dark purple skin and the brightest blue eyes  _(Y/N)_  had ever seen. A smattering of customers were spread out- three people at one table, a pair of women next to the window, and a man sitting at the counter with his shoulders hunched and a glass in one hand.

        She slipped across the room, keeping her head down and skirting around the tables. With every step she took, the silence was disturbed by a  _creak._

         _(Y/N)_  took the stool beside the man and placed her elbows on the scratched wood. She sat silently for a minute, her eyes fixed on the wall across from her chair.

        "Can I buy you a drink?"

        She turned to look at the man in surprise, quirking her eyebrows up as she looked him up and down calmly. The first thing that came to mind (as usual) was categorizing his weapons. A pair of blasters were attatched to his belt, and he looked a bit muscular, but not enough to take her on.

        His appearance was surprising, though. He didn't look like any of the other people on the planet, mainly because of his lack of different features. His hair was reddish-gold and styled into curls, his eyes were a generic blue, his jaw was dusted with stubble... he looked T _erran_ , if  _(Y/N)_ was correct.

        "What, you just gonna stare at me?" He asked snarkily. "Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"

        "No, thanks,"  _(Y/N)_ muttered. "I don't accept drinks from people I don't know."

        "My name's Peter Quill. There, now you know me. What can I get 'cha?"

        She smiled wanly at Peter and looked at the glass in his hand, full of amber liquid. "I'll have whatever you're having, thanks."

        He laughed. "This is pretty strong, girlie. Don't think you could take it. You sure you don't want something more... I dunno, fruity?"

         _(Y/N)_  nodded. "You gonna buy me a drink, go ahead, bud."

        "Okay, okay," Peter said, raising his hands in surrender. He waved the bartender over. "One for the lady, please."

        The purple man nodded and grabbed a glass from the shelves, pouring liquid into it and mixing it up before passing it to  _(Y/N)_ , who took a large sip and smiled. This 'Quill' guy had clearly underestimated her and, judging from the surprised look on his face, he knew it.

        "You hold your alcohol well."

        "Thanks," she said in a deadpan voice. "I appreciate the complement."

        Peter nodded and took another gulp of his before turning back to  _(Y/N)_. "You mind if I ask you about those dots beside your eyes?"

        "Not really. Go ahead,"  _(Y/N)_ replied. That sort of question normally came up in conversation; she had learned not to be surprised after twelve years of hearing it.

        "I've never seen anything like 'em. They're pretty cool, real nice. What do they do?"

        She reached up to brush her fingers over the rough circular patches on her temples, feeling the different sizes.

        "Everyone from my race has them. They're how we portray emotions and send signals and stuff like that. I've got them on my forehead, shoulders, collarbones, and the back of my neck. Not really a rare thing."

         _(Y/N)_  didn't mention that it was how she got her ability- matter manipulation, or the power to sculpt anything with physical mass into whatever she wanted.

        "Your race?" Peter asked.

        "Yeah. That's probably why you haven't seen the spots anywhere before. There aren't any more of us left 'cept me."

        "I get that." He nodded. "I can't even remember what my old planet looks like."

        "Yeah?"  _(Y/N)_  asked appraisingly. "How old were you?"

        "Eight. You?"

        "Six."

        "And how old are you now?"

        "It's impolite to ask a woman her age, buddy."

        "That mean you're not gonna tell me?"

        She hesitated. "Eighteen in Xhareian years."

        "I just bought a  _teenager_ a drink?!"

         _(Y/N)_ stifled a laugh. "It's fine. I'm technically above drinking age in Xharei, have been for a couple of years. And I didn't take it in any way other than friendship, Mr. Quill. Don't worry."

        Quill sighed with relief, sagging against the table and grinning. "Good. Wouldn't want you to think I was hitting on you. You probably thought I was a _total_ creep."

        "I wouldn't care if you had been. Again, don't worry. My race probably ages differently than yours."

         _"Whew."_

        "My sentiment exactly. If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Quill-"

        "Peter."

        "Peter, then. If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing on Kharis? You here alone, or what?"

        "Not alone. I'm with my team, we're just here to restock and pick up a shipment before we leave again tonight. We docked a little early so I decided to  come on out and burn some time on my own."

        "Yeah? That's nice."

        "And you're on Kharis for some important reason? Forgive me for saying it, but you seem a little young to be traveling the universe on your own."

        "I'm with my brother, for your information, and he's older than me. And I'm here on business. Not gonna stay for a long time. Just gotta get the job done and leave."

        Quill nodded, although one of his eyebrows rose at the mention of 'business'. Thankfully, he didn't ask any more questions, because he seemed to spontaneously remember something.

        "I gotta go! Lemme get your name real fast, yeah? I mean, you already got mine."

        " _(Y/N)_  Taeven. Nice to meet you, Peter. I hope I see you again soon."

        "Yeah, well, that's not likely. But it was nice to talk to you for the time being. Enjoy the drink,  _(Y/N)_."

        And with that, Quill stood, slapped a pair of coins onto the table, and swung out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

        Ebony may have been annoying, but  _(Y/N)_ had to give him credit. He stood outside the bar, keeping a watchful eye on the streets until she joined him again.

        She wished he had left and stayed gone. Maybe gotten run over by a convenient hovercraft or eaten by some sort of imported creature. _Anything_ would've been better than dealing with him for  _three freaking hours_ before she actually got her mission done and made a run for it.

        And it didn't help that she was totally on edge, twitching with almost every unexpected movement in her peripheral vision and moving almost constantly. Her senses were dialed up to an eleven, and she had a feeling that her circles were reflecting her mood with a tangerine-ish orange (irritation).

        Irritation just about summed it up.

        It took  _(Y/N)_ about an hour to locate the correct docking area with her brother in tow, another thirty minutes to find a good spot to keep watch from, and at least ten of listening to Ebony explain how she was doing her job wrong and exactly which measures needed to be taken to fix it.

        Halfway through, and she already wanted to drop kick him off the nearest building.

        All he did was sit in the corner and complain about how  _hot_ it was- it was actually freezing- or how  _humid_ it was- the air was drier than it would've been inside an oven- or how  _long_ it was taking.

        Of  _course_ it was taking a long time. The ship wasn't scheduled to dock until after the sun had gone down.

         _(Y/N)_  slumped against the corner of her 'crow's nest' and dragged a hand down her face, shaking her head in exasperation.

        "If you wanna go back to the Sanctuary II, I won't argue. Trust me. And I won't complain, either. Please feel free to leave me alone and let me finish this by myself."

        Ebony shot an unimpressed glare over his shoulder before turning back to the landing pad and training his gaze on one of the ships.

        "Your sense of humor lacks finesse."

        "Who needs finesse? I'm hilarious," she replied dryly, peering at one of the empty landing pads through a pair of binoculars. Nothing new had landed since they had arrived, which was slightly concerning. There were only two spacecraft in the docking bay- a commercial ship and a smaller one that seemed to be meant for personal purposes, judging from its gaudy coat of orange and blue paint.

         _(Y/N)_ had to resist the urge to blow it into pieces.

❖ ❖ ❖

_I can't stop this feeling_

_Deep inside of me_

_Girl, you just don't realize_

_What you do to me_

Peter's mixtape blasted through the Milano's speakers, filling every crevice of the ship with loud music and making it impossible for anybody to catch a moment of peace.

        That didn't mean they didn't try.

        Gamora practically buried herself in her chair, sinking all the way down and glaring out the cockpit window with fiery malice in her eyes that one could only get from listening to too much Terran music. Rocket resorted to cleaning every one of his guns- and doing so as loudly as possible so that the entire ship was filled with a mixture of clashing machinery and a crooning voice. Groot buried his little head in _Arcade Defender_ , his latest videogame acquisition, and refused to leave his sanctuary of peace. Drax just sat at the table and chewed as loud as he could.

        Peter couldn't figure out for the life of him why his team wasn't as enthusiastic about his music as he was.

  _When you hold me_

_in your arms so tight_

_You let me know_

_Everything's alright_

"Turn that damn thing off!" Rocket shouted, finally having run out of weapons to fix and noise to make. "My ears are going to start bleeding!"

        "Shut up, this is art," Peter replied. In retaliation, he placed a hand on the dial and slowly started to turn it, resulting in several curses from the direction of Rocket's workspace and Gamora's seat.

         _"I am Groot!"_

"Whoa!"

        "Language, man! _I_ didn't know that word when I was your age!"

        "Do we need to send Quill back out to get soap?"

         _"I am **Groot.** "_

Gamora turned around in her seat to stare at the small tree. Her eyebrow began to creep up her forehead slowly, inch by inch until even Peter was starting to get worried about it popping off.

        "Groot, watch your mouth," she said calmly. Her voice had quickly affected the 'mom' tone- which meant Peter was the dad, an idea that concerned everyone on the Milano.

        "I am Groot."

        "Thank you."

        Rocket went back to his weapons, stacking them in his arms and neatly putting them away in their compartment with the care and love of a proud father. Every gun was toweled off gently before being placed next to its 'siblings' and locked away.

        "Peter, turn the music off. We can turn it back on later, okay?" Gamora requested, her honeyed voice almost masking the true meaning.

        "But Gamora..."

        "Please, Peter. It's time to turn it off."

         _"Fine,"_  he sighed, his tone likened to that of an annoyed child.

_I'm hooked on a feeling_

_I'm high on bel-_

"And we were just getting to the good part, too."

        "That song doesn't have a good part," Rocket snapped. "It's a literal cesspool of word vomit."

        " _Gamora!"_

"Rocket, don't insult Quill's music. It's not word vomit, it's important to him."

        "And my peace of mind is important to me."

        Gamora shook her head and sighed, sinking down in her chair with the grace of a cat. The Guardians team acted like complete children ninety-seven percent of the time, and the other three percent was when they were sleeping and they couldn't do a thing. Groot, of course, had an excuse- he was a literal child, and just getting into his teenage phase, too. Gamora always gave it to him a bit less than she did the others. Rocket, Peter, and Drax couldn't get out of arguements if their lives depended on it.

        She peered through the polished window and inspected the tarmac. It was steadily getting darker, the sky fading from cerulean blue to a darker shade of midnight, which meant it was almost time to make the exchange and get off of Kharis in time for dinner.

        The landing pad was all but abandoned, the only other ship having taken off an hour earlier. A few people moved around on the sidewalks in pairs and trios, but there was nobody around that fit the description Gamora had been given.

        A sudden chill ran down her spine. Gamora shook slightly, suddenly completely attentive to her surroundings. She sat up straight and narrowed her eyes to see the port better. Something was... off.

        Unfortunately, she couldn't see whatever it was. The sun was sinking below the horizon and making it impossible for her to see anything.

        This couldn't just be a coincidence. The timing was too perfect, too planned. These sorts of things didn't just happen. There was always some sort of hitch.

        Peter and Rocket had just engaged in an argument over which was better- the former's blasters or the latter's guns- when Gamora shot up from her seat in the cockpit and strode down the center hall. She grabbed her jacket and shrugged it on, palming Godslayer and flicking it so that the silver blade extended.

        It was Peter's turn to raise an eyebrow.

        "Um, Gamora? Mind tellin' us what you're doin'?" He asked.

        "Hush. Both of you. Groot, turn off the game."

         _"I am-"_

_"GROOT."_

"I am Groot."

        Peter pulled one of his blasters out and followed Gamora to the back of the Milano, where the main door had been open for several hours. They had been waiting forever- Peter hadn't been able to keep his attention span under control and had ended up leaving for at least half of their time to do whatever he did without supervision- for the people they were supposed to make the exchange with.

        "What's goin' on?"

        "Hush. I've got a bad feeling..."

        Gamora trailed off and stepped out of the ship, to Peter's dismay.        

        "If you've got a bad feeling about something, you're not supposed to leave! You're  _supposed_ to stay inside and hide somewhere!"

        "Just shut up. If you're going to follow me, hurry up and move your ass."

        And with that, she strode off into the semi-darkness with her sword swinging at her side, glowing like a beacon in a storm. 

        Peter groaned. He waited a few seconds, hoping she would turn back around- and knowing she wouldn't- before following her like a dog on its owner's heels.

        "This had better be worth it."

❖ ❖ ❖

        "I think I see something."

         _(Y/N)_ yawned and hopped up from her seat against the wall, rubbing her tight back with both hands. Brick wasn't the most comfortable surface to try and catch a few minutes of sleep on, let alone the two hours she had just gotten, so there was a definite crick in the vertebrae.

        "Your circles are orange. What does that mean?"

        "It means I'm annoyed, Eb. And, seeing as you're the only one around, you must be the one annoying me. I would recommend you stop talking about useless information and just let me get the job done."

        That shut him up quickly. He pointed a single finger in the direction of the landing pad, two floors below in a courtyard, where only the blue and orange ship remained.

        "That thing's been there forever. You really think that's it?"

        "I saw a few people leave it. Both of them were armed."

        _(Y/N)_  grinned, grabbed her sword, and pushed Ebony away so she could see clearly over the railing. In the darkness, it was difficult to make out any individual figures, but her circles served as illuminators. Orange light bathed the balcony, making her leather armor shine with its own light.

        Ebony had been right. Two people were striding across the pavement, purpose ringing clear in each of their steps. One of them was clearly female, several inches shorter than the other and much curvier. The other was large, broad-shouldered, and all muscle. Both were clearly armed.

        No problem there.  _(Y/N)_  was, too.

        She carefully drew her sword, Starkiller. Three feet of black metal and death filled the space beside her thigh. Unlike its sister blade- Godslayer, her estranged sister's sword- Starkiller had been made to put the fear of God in her victims. Where Godslayer exuded light, Starkiller sucked it right out of its surroundings. That had been part of the sword's purpose, simply enough.

         _(Y/N)_  turned around to scrutinize Ebony, who was craning his neck to look over the railing of their makeshift hideout. He wasn't exactly suited for stealth missions. His build was weak and cumbersome, he had never been quiet enough, and even his demeanor was wrong. The only asset he could possibly offer would be his telekinesis, but  _(Y/N)_  had that already- in a more powerful form. Where telekinesis moved objects to and fro, occasionally extending to controlling organisms, matter manipulation could literally bend reality. If it had mass,  _(Y/N)_  could force it into whatever shape she wanted.

        Ebony was still a powerful enemy, though, and he was going to make it very hard for her to make a smooth getaway. That was an issue.

         _(Y/N)_ looked him up and down once or twice, assessing his threat level and deciding on a course of action, before she shrugged and raised a hand. With a few flicks of her fingers, the fabric collar of Ebony's shirt tightened and began to constrict around his neck and cut off his airflow.

        "Sorry, man," she said nonchalantly as he twisted around to stare at her with wide eyes. "Nothing personal. I gotta get away, and if that means killing a few of Thanos' kids off, I'll do it without regret."

        With another twitch of her hand, the collar pulled together even more. Ebony's gray face began to turn purple, darkening with every second  _(Y/N)_ kept her grip on him.

        "You want me to make this easy? I could do it faster if you wanted me to. It would be like falling asleep."

        He shook his head frantically, eyes bugging out of his skull.

        She hummed, playfully taking her time with the collar. "Well, if you're sure..."

        With a sudden movement,  _(Y/N)_  raised her arm and forced Ebony over the railing and into the concrete forty feet below. There was a sound of cracking pavement and shattering bones, as well as an awful gurgling noise, before everything went quiet.

        "What the  _hell?!"_

        Oh.  _(Y/N)_ had completely forgotten about her original mission and the fact that the people she was supposed to kill were standing within earshot of where she had been sitting.

        With a groan, she gripped Starkiller's hilt and crept around the balcony to the staircase, where she could see the majority of the landing pad.

        Ebony lay in a large crater;  _(Y/N)_ had used more force than she had meant to. He looked dead- broken bones, neck at an odd angle, blood all over the place (you know, those things that dead people tend to have)- so she wasn't concerned about him in particular.

        No, the threat was coming from the two figures that stood over him, scrutinizing the body of her sibling.

        The female was more dangerous than the male; that was clear to see. Her threat level was practically tangible in the air around her, from the way her legs were spread apart slightly to offer stability to the weapons that were clearly stored on her person.

        The male seemed a bit like a housecat. His movements were slow and practiced, and his stance was much less trained than that of his partner. The one problem was the blaster that hung from one of his hands- long range weapons were always worse than those that were used for close combat. If  _(Y/N)_ was going to have a chance of fighting them and escaping unharmed, she would have to dispatch from afar.

        She quietly slunk down the stairs, each foot coming down carefully and silently despite the metal soles of her boots, drawing a miniature pulse gun from her waistband and checking to make sure it was loaded. One finger curled over the trigger, then another.  _(Y/N)_ brought her arm up to shoot.

        The nozzle was trained neatly on the head of the taller figure. It would hit right above the ear, a clean entry and exit point already plotted. A quick death.

        Or it would've been if the female hadn't inexplicably sensed danger and pushed her companian out of the way.

        _Dammit._

         _(Y/N)_ was moving before the duo had a chance to get up from where they had fallen. She hopped down from her perch and raced across the landing pad, discarding the blaster and switching Starkiller to her dominant hand with a fluid motion.

        Her circles faded from orange to a practiced silver, lighting up the surrounding area with speed and efficiency. She took a flying leap in the female threat's direction, her sword raised to deliver a killing blow-

        And staggered back as it was caught by a nearly identical blade.

        For a minute, the two women stared at each other silently. The matching glows of  _(Y/N)_ 's rings and her adversary's sword illuminated their faces just enough to reveal their identities.

         _(Y/N)_ gaped as the dark eyes of Gamora, pronounced a traitor by Thanos and first on her hit list by _(Y/N)_ herself, burned into hers. The older sister stared back. Her mouth moved of its own volition, but no sound came out, leaving them both in an intense face-off.

        The male threat broke it with a graceful cough.

         _(Y/N)_  whipped around to point Starkiller at his neck and was surprised by yet another familiar face. Peter Quill, in all his curly-haired glory, scrambled back on the ground to try and put some distance between himself and the weapon.

        It took him a minute to recognize  _(Y/N),_ but when he did, there was no confusing it.

        " _Taeven?"_

"The hell are you doing here?" She snapped, glowering at him with murder in her eyes. "What are you doing with  _her?!_ "

        "I'm  _sorry?"_ Peter asked, shocked and completely out of the loop. "You know Gamora?"

        "And you know my psychopath of a sister?" Gamora cut in, her eyes flicking back and forth between  _(Y/N)_ and Peter. 

        "That's rich coming from you, 'Mora. Real funny."

        She scoffed. "Sorry, do you think  _I_ was the family lunatic?"

        "I think you were the family  _traitor._ For the love of the  _stars,_ G, don't downplay your own insanity."

        "I was a  _captive._ "

        "And you think I wasn't?"  _(Y/N)_ retorted. The light around her eyes slowly merged from silver to dark red, changing her surroundings into a hellish sort of landscape. "Everything he did to you, he did to me."

        Gamora rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by her younger sister's argument. 

        "You think I didn't know that?!"

        "If you  _knew,_ why did you _leave_ m-"

        Maybe  _(Y/N)_ had underestimated Peter a bit. Well, maybe a lot.

        While Gamora and  _(Y/N)_ argued with each other, he managed to avoid the sharp tip of her blade and smack her over the head with the hilt of his blaster.

        She dropped like a brick, slamming into the pavement with a dull  _clunk_ as if she was a puppet whose strings had been cut. Starkiller fell from her hands and clattered to the landing pad, its hilt resting next to the tip of Gamora's boot.

        Gamora looked up at Peter with a pair of wide eyes, her eyebrows rising for the second time that night. This time, however, it was because she was impressed.

        "Nice hit, Peter. You know her?"

        Peter curled his lip. "I bought her a drink earlier today when I went out. Met her in a bar. We only talked for a few minutes, though, so it's not like we bonded or anything."

        "Were you flirting?" She asked skeptically.

        "Maybe a little at first. But not-  _Gamora,_ don't look at me like that! I flirt with everything that breathes!"

        Gamora watched as Peter knelt beside  _(Y/N)_ 's motionless body and reached for her wrist. An amused smile began to curve over her lips.

        "I know you do. And you don't need to check her pulse, she's fine. Nothing to worry about."

        "How do you know?"

        "She's like me, Peter. Remember how I told you about my family?"

        "With that purple grape dude, right?" Peter asked as he checked  _(Y/N)_ 's pulse regardless of what Gamora had said. "The guy who goes around killing people?"

        "That's the one.  _(Y/N)_ was one of his mercenaries, second only to me in skill. Two years younger than me. She probably hates me now."

        "Why?"

        "Because-"

        A pair of little footsteps pattered across the tarmac towards Gamora and Peter, snapping them out of their conversation. They both turned around to see Groot racing over to  _(Y/N)_  and placing a hand on her forehead. The little tree looked up at his parent figures, eyes wide and curious.

        "I am Groot?"

        "I don't know if she's a friend, buddy," Peter said calmly. "We'll figure it out, okay?"

        He shot a look in Gamora's direction. She shrugged and scooped Starkiller off of the ground, flipping it over in her hand and inspecting it before flicking it and placing the collapsed blade in her pocket.

        "I am Groot."        

        "Yep. She's alive."

        "I am Groot?" Groot asked, turning to look at the crater with Ebony's body in it.

        "I dunno who he is," she said. "He must be new. Leave him where he is and someone else'll take care of it."

        "Are you sure that's responsible?" 

        "Since when do you care about responsability?"

        "True." Peter glanced down at  _(Y/N)_ , whose circles were pulsating blue and green. "What do we do with her?"

        "We can't just leave her here."

        "If we're leaving alien dude, we can leave alien girl, too. I don't want a sibling rivalry on my ship."

        "Leaving a dangerous mercenary in the middle of Kharis is an awful idea and you know it. I guess we could drop her somewhere else..."

        "Like jail?"

        "That's a bad idea, too. If the other prisoners knew who she was, they'd react the same way they reacted to me. She'd be outnumbered. We should probably-"

        "I am Groot?"        

        Gamora and Peter both looked down at Groot in surprise, twin expressions of bemusement on their faces.

        "I dunno, bud. That might not be the best idea."

        "I am  _Groot._ "

        She sighed and shook her head, clearly exasperated. "Pick her up, Peter. We're bringing her"


	4. Chapter 4

        "Are you sure that's her?"

        "Sorry, but I think I would know if it wasn't. She's pretty memorable."

        "You don't think Thanos might have decided to fake us out? That this might be some sort of a clone or something, meant to kill us all?"

        "She was probably supposed to kill us anyways. Thanos wouldn't need to clone her to get us out of the picture."

        "But  _'Mora!"_

        "That's  _(Y/N)_ 's nickname for me. You don't get to use it."

        A pause.

        "I thought you hated each other?"

        "She _is_ my little sister, Peter. I can't  _not_ care about her."

        "She didn't seem to care about you."

        "She never has. That's just how she is."

        Peter groaned and slumped back in his chair, shooting a glance over his shoulder to make sure their 'passenger' hadn't moved.  _(Y/N)_  was still unresponsive where she lay on the table, watched carefully by Drax and Rocket. It had taken Gamora ten minutes and several threats to convince the raccoon that removing one or two of her circles for 'testing' would be a very, very bad idea.

        "You had a sucky family life," Peter remarked in a deadpan voice. 

        "Very sucky," she agreed. "Definitely."

        "At least you accept it."

        "Mmm."

        Another pause.

        "So what are we going to do with her?"

        Gamora twisted around to stare at Peter, clearly unimpressed. "She's not cargo, Peter. What do you mean by 'do with her'?"

        "Well, we can't just tow her around the galaxy with us or keep her prisoner. She's Thanos' kid, right?"

        "Adopted. You already know that. What exactly are you getting at?"

        "They'll be after her. When she wakes up, we can ask her why she was after you and I'd bet my walkman she was sent to kill _you._  Thanos doesn't strike me as the guy who just lets people leave, am I right?"

        "Maybe."

        "Awesome. So do we drop her off at the next port, ditch her, dropkick her out of the ship and take that issue out of the equation-"

        "Peter! We're not spacing my sister!"

        Peter held his hands up in mock surrender, pursing his lips like a small child. "Sorry, sorry. I was kidding."

        "Well, it wasn't  _funny._ What if she had woken up when you said that? We don't joke around about that kind of thing, okay?"

        "You're talking like this is a permanent thing. Like  _(Y/N)_ 's going to be around for a long time."

        Gamora hesitated. "It could become a permanent thing, I guess. I don't like it any more than you do, Peter. Trust me. It's uncomfortable to have her around and I would be concerned if she doesn't try to kill me when I wake up."

        "I would not let that happen," Drax cut in. His voice had no trace of humor. "I won't lose another family member to Thanos."

        The duo in the cockpit hesitated, not knowing exactly what to say. On one hand, it was great to see that Drax actually  _trusted_ Gamora. On the other...

        "You're not going to hurt her when she wakes up, are you?"

        "I will if she tries to hurt you."

        "Drax," Gamora said softly, " _(Y/N)_ 's going to be pretty scared when she wakes up, and her natural instinct is to fight. I need you to promise not to provoke her, okay?"

        "But-"

        "Drax,  _please."_

        The ship fell silent. 

        "Alright."

❖ ❖ ❖

         _(Y/N)_ woke with an awful headache blazing through her brain. The pain radiated out from a point at the base of her skull, a place with a suspiciously large bump.

        Brilliant.

        She groaned, eyes squeezed shut as she tried to regain a general sense of where she was and what was going on. Nothing was registering right; confusion reigned in the mess that was her mind. There was no understanding of what had happened.

        The escape plan. That was what  _(Y/N)_ remembered. She had been about to escape from Thanos and his Black Order. A knapsack had been packed, and she was just fighting Ebony...

        Wait. No, she had missed something.

        Ebony had been killed before she had engaged Gamora and Peter Quill.

        And the knapsack was gone.

         _What?!_

 _(Y/N)_ shot up, straightening her back and flailing around to gain purchase on something,  _anything_ that she could. There was nothing to grab except for the smooth tabletop, and that provided no friction.

        She looked around frantically, trying to figure out where she was and what in the world was going on. There were no lights wherever she had been taken. Everything was dark, bathed in midnight black, and even her circles- glowing bright green- couldn't illuminate her surroundings. 

        "Hello? Anybody?"  _(Y/N)_  shouted, forcing herself not to panic. She had never liked the dark, and at times it even escalated to a full-blown issue. "Is anybody there?"

        There was no answer.

        The green color intensified as a hopeless feeling settled over her. Nobody was there, nobody was coming, nobody was going to help her.

        _(Y/N)_  was alone.

❖ ❖ ❖

        "It's awfully quiet down there," Peter remarked nonchalantly from his seat. "You don't think anybody could be up to anything, do you?"        

        Gamora sent an unimpressed glare over her shoulder. "You're going to have to be more specific than that, Quill."

        He sighed melodramatically. "You think she's woken up yet, or not?"        

        "I don't think so. She'd have made her presence known if she was up."

        "You really think that's true? If I open the hatch right now, I'm not going to end up with a knife in my head or something?"

        "She's unarmed."

        "You assassin people scare me, Gamora! You can't blame me for being a little bit worried that she's used my ship to make her murder weapon! Could she do that?"

        "Do what?"

        "Take apart my ship and kill me with it?!"

        Gamora paused, contemplating his question. "I dunno. Probably. I mean, she was trained the same way I was. We can kill with all sorts of things."

        "Oh,  _hell_ no!"

        Quill rocketed out of his seat and stomped over to the hatch, leaning down to throw it up. Gamora stood behind him.

        "What are you  _doing,_ idiot?"

        "Protecting my baby!"

        And with that, he cannonballed down into the second level of the Milano, disappearing into the darkness. Gamora sighed and shook her head before following him.

        "I have to protect everyone around here, don't I? All a bunch of children..."

        The area below the deck, for one thing, was dark. Gamora winced when she realized that they had neglected to turn on any lights for when  _(Y/N)_  woke up, effectively leaving her to her own devices.

        Of course, there were two sides to this issue. On one, she couldn't see a thing, which meant they were in the clear for a few minutes at least.

        On the other, they couldn't see her. They were pretty much helpless if she had already woken up.

        Apparently,  _(Y/N)_  had.

        It only took a few seconds for the flash of metal in the corner of Gamora's eye to register, but by then it was too late. A shard of cold metal was pressed up against her jugular, cutting a fine line into her skin. A gloved hand wrapped around the crook of her elbow to hold her still.

        "Tell me where I am,"  _(Y/N)_ demanded, her voice harsh. "What did you do?"

        "Whoa!" Peter exclaimed. He practically jumped out of his skin and whirled around, both hands up. "Sorry, sorry! Don't kill her!"

        "Then tell me where I am!"

        "You're on the Milano," Gamora said calmly. "Peter's ship. We left Kharis a few hours ago."

        "And you  _brought me?!"_

        The blade pressed closer.

        "We couldn't just leave you there, you'd killed someone! They don't call us the 'Guardians of the Galaxy' for nothing!"

        "I don't care what they call you, I care that I'm on your ship! And he wasn't a  _good guy_ , anyway."

        "You're not a good guy, either," Peter interjected. Gamora rolled her eyes and shook her head as much as she could with a knife- well, a piece of the Milano's walls, really- at her throat.

        "For your information,"  _(Y/N)_ snapped, "I was trying to  _get away_ from him and Thanos. So you can't blame me for wanting to kill him. Besides, he was an idiot. And an obnoxious insect, to be honest."

        "You still  _killed_ him! You can't justify murder!"

        Nobody really caught what happened next, because it happened too quickly to register with anyone in the conference area. Maybe  _(Y/N)_ had been watching closer than the two Guardians had thought, maybe she just had an inherent feeling that something was about to happen, or maybe some outside force had decided to make life hell for everyone on board the Milano. Not that it mattered, because there was no avoiding the fight that had been looming over their conversation.

        Peter moved for his blasters just as  _(Y/N)_ hurled her makeshift knife hilt-over-blade in his direction, effectively pinning the sleeve of his jacket to the wall behind him without puncturing his skin. The minute she was unarmed, Gamora kicked her feet against the floor and catapulted straight over her sister's head, catapulting them both to the ground, assassin over mercenary.

        It was an immediate catfight. Both siblings were unarmed, but that didn't mean they were helpless. They scratched and bit, kicked and punched, flailed around on the ground with as much grace as possible. 

        Peter, who watched from the wall while he tried to free up his Ravager jacket, could immediately tell that they had been trained in the same methods. _(Y/N)_ and Gamora had similar assault methods and their techniques were flawless in comparison. 

        They were also very loud, and could clearly be heard by the others in the cockpit.

        Drax was the first to fly through the hatch and enter the fray, roaring and flexing his muscles like he actually had someone to impress. Any promises he had made to Gamora and Peter were forgotten as he threw himself carelessly into two wrestling women and began to throw punches in  _(Y/N)_ 's direction with reckless abandon.

        Rocket followed close behind, shouting over his shoulder for Groot to stay in his seat and watch the controls as he readied his favorite weapon for combat. He couldn't fire it in close range, but that didn't stop him from swinging it like a bat and trying to brain their adversary.

         _(Y/N)_  wouldn't have any of it. She ducked every one of Rocket's swings and Drax's punches, returning attacks of her own while trying to keep tabs on Gamora at the same time.

        Peter didn't know anything about the Xhareian circles or what their specific colors meant outside of what  _(Y/N)_ had told him, but he could hazard a guess at what bright green meant. The red color that was mixed in with it was slightly more obvious; it correlated with the livid expression on her face.

        He worked furiously to free his arm before grunting angrily and slipping out of his jacket, leaving it hanging from the wall like a limp noodle. He was going to have a hell of a time getting  _that_ out of the three inches of metal it was pinned to.

        Rocket almost knocked his coworker out the minute he tried to join the fight, a swing of his weapon going wide. Peter narrowly avoided taking a muzzle straight to the jaw and made a mental note to chide him about it later. Much, much later

        There were more pressing matters to deal with at hand.

         _(Y/N)_ was obviously used to being hopelessly outnumbered in fights, because she was having no problem dealing with her opponents. Drax and Rocket were barely able to break through her defenses; Gamora was the only one who had a fighting chance of taking her out.

        Peter snuck under one of Drax's fists and hopped over Gamora's boot, trying to get behind  _(Y/N)_ so he could hit her over the head again and finish the fight quickly. The minute he got close enough, however, one of her gloved fists came hurtling out of nowhere and hit him right between the eyes. He fell back, reeling and blinking stars out of his eyes- and sprawling to the ground on top of Rocket in the process.

        Drax was soon to follow, smacking into Peter just as he finally got his bearings and staggered to his feet. The three men slammed back into the floor of the Milano with a  _clang_ , the air knocked out of their lungs and a ringing sound in their heads.

        Gamora and  _(Y/N)_  faced off against each other. Somewhere in the fight, they had been able to gain weapons- the former, a lamp from the corner of the room and the latter, a chair leg- still connected to the chair, unfortunately.

        They were both scuffed up and breathing heavily, but it didn't seem to faze them.  _(Y/N)_ 's circles shifted from their dominant green to a dark maroon color, which darkened the confined space further and made it seem all the more threatening.

        "This doesn't have to be a fight," Gamora said. "We can calm down and talk this out. Figure out a diplomatic way for all of us to get what we want out of this."

        "It always ends in a fight,"  _(Y/N)_ replied darkly. "You know that, 'Mora. Nothing's changed since the day you left me."

        "I escaped."

        "I don't care!"

        Understanding dawned in the older sister's eyes. She slowly set the lamp down on the table, raising both hands to her chest and crossing them protectively.

        "Boys, you need to leave."

        Her statement was immediately met by protests from Drax and Rocket as Peter, who decided to be the adult for once in his life, grabbed them both and dragged them into the cockpit. He turned the lights on as he left, figuring that a little change in ambiance couldn't hurt, before closing the hatch quietly and leaving Thanos' former children to their own devices.

❖ ❖ ❖

        Gamora waited until the hatch was closed completely and had settled in its place before relaxing. She didn't move any closer to  _(Y/N)_ , who watched cautiously as she sat down in one of the chairs and raised an eyebrow.

        "So, you were escaping Thanos last night? That was one of his lackeys?

        The reply was tense, but it was a reply nonetheless. "Our- my brother.  _Former_ brother. Ebony Maw. Thanos must have figured out that I was trying to leave earlier that day and decided to send someone along with me to keep me in check."

        "I take it that didn't work out so well. That guy was a stick, why him?"

        "Telekinetic. Still no match for me, but he must've thought someone with brain powers would stand a chance. He was wrong."

        "Yeah, we saw that last night. Maw, he's dead?"

        "Probably. I strangled him and crushed him into a concrete landing pad."

        A short silence.

        "Good. The world is better off with one less member of Thanos' order."

        "Two. Unless you plan on returning me, I won't be going back."

        Gamora stared at  _(Y/N)_ , eyes wide. "Why would I ever send you back there?"

        "You left, anyway. I didn't think it would matter,"  _(Y/N)_ said emotionlessly. She dropped the chair with a muted  _thunk_ . "I don't have that many allies left in this universe. I didn't think I could count you among them."

        "I'll always be in your corner,  _(N/N)_."

        _A six-year-old (Y/N), fresh tears streaming down her face, sat beside Gamora on the elder's bed. Gamora wrapped her arms around the newest arrival, trying to be as comforting as she could._

_"I'll be here._

_An eight-year-old (Y/N) angrily crashed around her bedroom. Objects flew left and right without human skin ever making contact as her abilities began to manifest in their full power, overwhelming everything. Gamora watched the proceeds from a metal chair, biting her lip nervously._

_"I'm here if you need me, (N/N). Okay?"_

_Two teenagers wrestled in front of a large crowd, Thanos himself at its crest. Blood splattered over the sands of an arena. Blades flew, but one flew truer than the other. (Y/N) made her first kill, and Gamora was waiting for her in her room when she returned, gore and dust coating her skin._

_"I know, I know. I'm here for you."_

         _The last time (Y/N) saw Gamora before the latter disappeared from her life. She sprawled out in a chair in a borrowed spacecraft, monitoring the status of their mission with a relaxed smile on her face._

_"You copy, 'Mora? All good out there?"_

_"All good." The coms were sprinkled with static for a minute before Gamora spoke again. "You know I'll always be there if you need me, right?"_

_" 'Course," (Y/N) replied, the corners of her lips curving downwards. "Why do you ask?"_

_"Just... making sure."_

"That's what you said. You promised to be there for me."

        "I haven't broken that promise yet."

         _(Y/N)_ scoffed, smiling cruelly and sliding into the chair across from Gamora.

        "I beg to differ."

        "I'm still here, aren't I?"

        "That's funny, because I seem to recall that you left me alone with Thanos for three years."

        "You can't blame me for leaving. I had to get out of a bad situation. You would've done the same if you were me."

        " _That's a lie!"_ She roared, eyes burning with hatred. " _I never would have left you behind!"_

" _(Y/N)_ -"

        "Just shut up! Stars, 'Mora, listen to what I'm saying!"

        When she said nothing,  _(Y/N)_ continued.

        "You  _left me!_ Nebby and I were left alone on the Sanctuary to protect ourselves. You were always his favorite, and with you gone... things got worse. So much worse. He started recruiting more people and killing entire populations... everything was sent into motion. I was going on missions every other day, Nebby's more machine than luphomoid now." Her voice broke. "Everything's going wrong, 'Mora. You left us alone."

        "I'm sorry," Gamora said sadly. "I didn't know it would affect  you that much."

        She laughed. "Yeah, right. You knew that if you left, everything would get worse for those of us who were left behind. You knew Nebby and I would take the brunt. Don't even lie to yourself."

        "Maybe I did. But it wasn't easy for me to leave you behind."

        "I don't care if it wasn't easy, I care that it happened. You left us. You left  _me."_

        At that moment, Gamora realized that her younger sister had never sounded more like a child. The plaintive sadness in her voice could be likened to that of a young child, crying for a parent who wasn't coming back. Her heart broke.

        "I'm so, so sorry,  _(Y/N)_. If I could go back and take you with me, I would. But you're here now, and we're free, and I want to start over. Can you forgive me?"

         _(Y/N)_ met her eyes, biting her lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. After a moment of hesitation, she nodded slowly.

        "I guess."

❖ ❖ ❖

        "Which one do you think died?" Rocket asked bluntly as he cleaned the tip of his weapon. 

        Peter whirled around from his seat behind the controls, eyes wide. "What do you mean, 'Which one do you think died'?! Nobody's dead!"

        "Well, it's pretty quiet down there right now. The shouting's stopped."

        "I am Groot."

        "Thank you, Groot. That's very insightful."

        "Just because they're quiet doesn't mean they're  _dead._ They might've just resolved the issue," he said stubbornly. "Everything doesn't have to end in death, no matter what you believe, Rocket."

        "It's not what I believe. It's just more likely. You left two trained warriors who just happen to hate each other in a confined space. I'd be surprised if one of them wasn't dead. _Someone_ had to have one."

        "I am Groot."

        "I think it was Gamora," Drax said, his words muffled by the food he had just stuffed into his mouth. "She could easily best any of her siblings."

        "My bet's on the walking lightbulb," Rocket argued. "She beat your ass, man. No use arguing with that."

        "My ass cannot be beaten easily."

        "It's a metaphor."

        "That's actually not a metaphor," Peter interjected.

        "Shut up, Quill. This ain't a grammar lesson. My point is that lightbulb probably crushed her sister. Betcha three anorak batteries and a bag of those weird nuts you're constantly eating."

        "I'll take that bet!"

        "Don't bet on that!"

        "I am Groot."

        The four men- well, three men and Groot- were so absorbed in their conversation that they didn't notice Gamora until she had closed the hatch and cleared her throat. They whipped around, a grin spreading over Drax's face and an angry scowl over Rocket's.

        "Did you take care of the body, or do I need to?"

        "What?!" She snapped, obviously taken aback. "She's not  _dead,_ she's asleep! What the  _hell,_ Rocket?"

        Peter sighed in relief. "You took care of the issue?"

        "Yeah. All good."

        "So what's the plan? Does she want us to drop her off somewhere, or...?"

        " _(Y/N)_ 's going to be staying with us."


	5. Chapter 5

        "You still have the scar."

         _(Y/N)_ raised an eyebrow at Gamora, reaching up to brush her fingers gently over the seam in her left cheek. It had faded slightly in the twelve years since the attack on Zharei, but it was still deep and ugly. Not that it mattered, because it wasn't going anywhere and it wasn't like  _(Y/N)_ had ever been one to care about her appearance, but... well, now that she was able to care for herself and do what she wanted, the mark was starting to bother her.

        "Why wouldn't I?"

        "I dunno, just making a comment. You look a lot like you did three years ago."

        "Well, I  _have_ changed a  _little._ "

        "Still small, though."

        "I'll have you know that I've grown."

        "Yeah, right. Believe that when I see it."

        "Two inches! I've grown two inches, swear it! Measure and you'll see, 'Mora, c'mon!"

        "Maybe later,  _(N/N)_. I'm going to go to bed now, okay? Make nice with the boys."

         _(Y/N)_ made a face, pursing her lips and scrunching her eyebrows together. "That sounds awful. Can I just come with you?"

        "If you're going to be living with us, you can't ignore everyone else on the Milano. They're your teammates now and you're going to be working with them a lot. I'll see you in the morning, alright?"

        Gamora ruffled  _(Y/N)_ 's hair and smiled before heading over to the hatch and swinging into the downstairs area, closing it carefully and leaving  _(Y/N)_ alone- well, she may as well have been alone, considering the company she'd been keeping.

        For the past two days, ever since the confrontation at the Kharis landing port, she had been doing her level best to ignore everybody occupying the ship except for Gamora and, occasionally, Peter. Drax, Groot, and Rocket had been blacklisted and were perpetually treated as if they didn't exist. 

        She had confined herself to the back area of the cockpit, tucked into a corner with a book in one hand- borrowed from Peter- and tuned the world out. She only spoke to Gamora and barely ever slept, and her circles were always a nondescript silver. Her expression didn't change; if the Guardians hadn't known better, they would have thought she was bored.

        But, as Gamora had said, she couldn't exactly ignore them for the rest of her life. She didn't have to be the one to start up a conversation, though.

        Fortunately, she didn't need to.

        Peter, the team leader that he was, passed control of the ship over to Rocket and made his way over to where she was sitting.  _(Y/N)_ looked up from the knife she had been polishing (taken out of her returned knapsack) and narrowed her eyes with suspicion.

        "You mind if I sit here?"

        It took a few seconds for her to respond, but after assessing him for threats and trying to figure out his motivations, she moved aside and made room. Peter sat down, groaning as one of his knees cracked. He made sure there was space between his leg and  _(Y/N)_ 's thigh.

        "You don't have to do that, you know."

        "Huh?" She asked, confused.

        "Treat everyone like they're going to hurt you or you're going to have to hurt them. You're safe here, on the Milano. None of us are going to hurt you if you don't try to hurt us first."

        "I know. It's just... this is a very drastic change from the situation I was in. I'm not used to this."        

        "Used to what?"

        "Safety. Not having to watch my back in fear of someone putting a knife in it. There wasn't a bond like this on the Sanctuary, Peter. We weren't a team. Most of us were hostages or kidnapped. Almost all of us were orphans. It wasn't a good place for a child to grow up."

        "Yeah," Peter sighed, "I get that. I grew up on a Ravager ship from age eight- after I was taken from Earth- to a few years ago."

        "Right. You told me that a few days ago. You were born on Terra."

        "Yup. My mom took care of me until... until she got sick. I didn't know my dad."

        "Your mom..."  _(Y/N)_ hesitated. "Was she nice?"

        "From what I remember, yeah, she was. Her name was Meredith Quill. She died the night I was taken by the Ravagers."

        "I'm sorry. My mom and dad died, too. A Chitauri soldier killed him, and Thanos had her taken out of the equation. That was when he took me, too. When he decimated my planet."

        "I'm sorry for your loss."

        She shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I've made peace with my losses."

        "I don't think we ever really make peace with our losses,  _(Y/N)_ ," Peter said seriously.

         _(Y/N)_ nodded and pursed her lips. They lapsed into an awkward silence, the only sound coming from Peter's half-on-half-off headphones.

        "What are those?"

        "These?" He pulled them off, passing them over for her to inspect. "They're headphones. They connect to my walkman so I can listen to music without drivin' everyone else insane."

        An expression of wistful hope passed over her face, accompanied by the subtle shift of her circles from blue to a rosy pink.

        "Music?"

        "Yeah. You know, what you listen to when you're workin' and there's too much noise around. To block out the sound and get you into your own head."

         _(Y/N)_ furrowed her brow. It took a minute for Peter to understand, but when he did, everyone could tell.

        "You mean to tell me that you've never heard good music? Or danced?! You don't even know what I'm talkin' about, do you?!"

        "Not really, no. We didn't have...  _music..._ on the Sanctuary, or on Xharei. At least, not that I can remember. And I've never danced."

        " _Never DANCED?!_ "

        "No. I never learned how."

        "Well, we can't have that, can we?" Peter asked, hoisting himself to his feet with assistance from the wall and  _(Y/N)_ 's knee.

        "What are you doing?"

        "The question is not 'what are you doing?', it's 'what are  _we_ doing?'. Also, I never know what I'm doing, to be honest. C'mon, let's do this."

         _(Y/N)_ cautiously stood (with much less moaning and groaning than Peter, I might add) and followed Peter into the back room, where an empty space just big enough for the team had been set up. There were large windows on each wall, giving a view of the stars and planets outside.

        She stepped over to lean on one of the walls, watching as Peter prepped his little 'walkman' for whatever he was planning. Her heeled boots made quiet noises against the floor, reminiscent of her time on the Sanctuary II. It wasn't a pleasant reminder, but  _(Y/N)_ didn't have any clothes to change into. She was just going to have to make do with her dust covered uniform.

        "Alright, I'm going to teach you how to dance,  _(Y/N)_. And you're going to be amazing."

        "What if I'm not?"

        "You will be. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll do great."

         _(Y/N)_ scoffed. "I've never done this before, Peter. I don't even know what you want me to do."

        "Just let me put the headphones on you and do what I say, okay? I'll teach you what you need to know."

        "This... doesn't seem relevant to anything I've learned."

        "It's probably not. I mean, you probably can't fight and dance at the same time. Well, maybe  _you_ can. And probably Gamora. You two could totally dance and kill people. Or use dance  _to_ kill people. I'm rambling. Sorry."

        "Don't worry about it. I'll just follow your lead, then."

        "Awesome."

        Peter removed the headphones from his neck and placed them over her ears. He reached down to press a button on his ever-present walkman.

        "I picked a pretty slow song so we can start off nice and easy. On Terra, they call this sort of dance a 'slow' dance."

        "Because it's slow?"

        "No," he deadpanned, "Because one of the partners has to be an idiot."

         _(Y/N)_ laughed quietly and swatted his forearm. "Okay, okay. Just show me what to do."

        "Um... alright, so you're gonna put one hand on my shoulder. Right there. And I'll hold the other one."

        Peter readjusted her position, edging her hand up and placing it on his left shoulder before gripping her other in his own. He noticed how she stiffened when he positioned his left hand on her waist; he could practically feel the muscles in her core tightening. Something in her hip shifted.

        She smiled wanly at his look of surprise.

        "I have metal implants like Gamora. Most of them are pretty smooth, but that one's been acting up."

        "I'll have to get Rocket to take a look at it. Are you okay with this?"

        "Yeah. Go ahead, Peter."

        "Alright, so we're gonna sway back and forth for a few minutes, just to get the hang of things."

        "I'm sorry?"  _(Y/N)_ frowned.

        "Just sway back and forth and listen to the music. Loosen up."

        It was clear to see that she wasn't exactly sure about what he was asking, but she did it nonetheless. It took a few seconds for lyrics to stream through the wire and into her ears, a crooning male voice infiltrating her mind.

_I'm not in love_

_So don't forget it_

_It's just a phase I'm going through_

_And just because_

_I call you up_

_Don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made_

_I'm not in love, no no, it's because..._

        Peter looked down at  _(Y/N)_ , who had closed her eyes at some point and was slowly swaying back and forth in sync with both him and the music. Her hair had fallen over her face, _(h/c)_ strands covering one of her eyes and a few of her scales, which were still tinted a rosy pink that was getting paler and paler as she moved.

        Even though she was still wearing the sharply-cut leather uniform, she looked so much  _younger_ than she had when Peter first saw her in the bar. And no, he had not been flirting with a teenager- at least, not knowingly. He had actually thought she was older, because she had  _looked_ older. He hadn't thought a kid would be sitting at a tiny little cesspool of a bar all by herself, drinking like it was totally normal.

        Slowly, trying not to startle her, Peter swung one arm out and executed a neat swirl before pulling her in again and going back to swaying.  _(Y/N)_ didn't even open her eyes, complying with his actions with a few stiff movements.

        "See? I told you, you're a natural. Never seen someone learn this fast, not even Gamora."

        "That would be a first," she murmured.

        "Hm?"

        "I've never been better than her at anything. Not that I'm mad at her for that or anything," she said quickly, "It wasn't her fault. But nobody's ever told me I was better than her. Always being second best... it sucks, especially with Thanos."

        "Sucked," Peter corrected. "You aren't with him anymore. And you don't have to compare yourself with her. You're too young for that."

        "Ha. Never been told  _that_ , either."

        "Well, you are. You're eighteen,  _(Y/N)_. Now that you're away from him, you can actually live for once. Start a new life. You've got a clean record."

        "My record isn't clean, Peter. I don't think it ever will be. But thanks for trying, anyway," she said sadly. "I appreciate it."

        "Hey, I'll always be here to boost your self-esteem if you boost mine, yeah?"

        "That sounds like a deal I can live with."

        They swayed for a few more minutes, throwing in a turn or a dip here and there before the music stopped and they broke apart. Peter found that he had been expecting it to be awkward- he was essentially dating her adopted sister, after all- but there was nothing awkward about it at all, actually. He found that it felt like he was dancing with a younger sister or cousin.

         _(Y/N)_ didn't know what she felt. She appreciated what Peter had done to help her adjust a bit more, that was for sure. She also had some sort of buzzing feeling in her chest, filling her with warmth as if she had just immersed herself in hot water and taken a deep breath through the nose. It stung, but in a pleasant way. Peter was so much better than the boys who had called them her 'brothers' back with Thanos. He felt like... well, like a real big brother.

        Of course, she was comparing him with Ebony Maw, Corvus Glaive, Cull Obsidian, and every other child who had been taken in by Thanos, so she didn't exactly have anything good to go off of.

        It was better than nothing.

❖ ❖ ❖

        "You know, we should probably get you something to wear other than that. It can't be comfortable."

         _(Y/N)_ turned around to stare at Rocket, eyes wide. She had been completely immersed in her latest book, her lower lip stuck firmly between her teeth, as Rocket steered the ship with the expertise and ease one would convey if they were doing the dishes. They had both been satisfied with their own activities, and the raccoon hadn't expressed any longing for conversation.

        "You heard me," he said bluntly, "you need new clothes. Leather looks real badass, but sleeping in it doesn't seem fun."

         _(Y/N)_ looked down at her clothing, comprised of a simple pair of leather pants, a tight bodice with long sleeves, heeled boots, and more weapons holsters than she could count- most of them were full.

        "I don't have any other clothing."

        "We can figure that out. You're pretty small, but not  _that_ small, so I'm out of the question. I wouldn't make you share clothes with Drax, because he's a hollow-brained idiot who never wears shirts. Groot doesn't even wear  _clothes._ Gamora doesn't share... so that leaves Quill."

        "I don't want to take anything else from him," she protested. "He's done enough for me lately. The armor's fine. The next time you dock I'll pick something up; I've got international currency in my bag."

        "No, no, no. You're one of us now and you're not going to sleep like that. Quill's in the back room, and there's nothing in this quadrant, so I'm parking this ship right now and we're going to go bug him until he gives you clothes."

        "I don't think you can park a ship."

        "Don't be a smart alec, I get enough of that from Quill. I'm  _stopping_ the ship, happy?"

         _(Y/N)_ nodded. She waited for Rocket to stop the ship- which was, in fact, in an astroid-free zone- before following him back to where Peter was listening to his music.

        Rocket tapped him on the arm, pulling him out of his reverie.

        "The scary lady needs clothes. I'm not giving her any of mine. Fork 'em over, bud."        

        To  _(Y/N)_ 's surprise, Peter didn't protest. He just nodded thoughtfully, took her by the hand, and led her over to his bunk to go through his bag.

        "I'm a lot bigger than you, so my pants probably won't fit. I've got a pair from a few years ago, though, so you're in luck. And the shirt's going to be giant. You're going to be drowning. Just a warning."

        "I'm not worried."

        "Awesome."

        He passed her a bundle of clothes.  _(Y/N)_ took them gratefully and smiled even more gratefully when Peter left the room and made sure Rocket and Drax weren't peaking so she could change in peace.

        It took several minutes for her to undo every clasp and buckle on her torso alone, and when she successfully dropped her old clothing onto the ground and changed into Peter's, she realized just how much she had been missing.

        Peter had been right; the shirt had been huge. It was clearly supposed to be a regular t-shirt, but the sleeves drooped all the way down to her elbows and it might as well have been a dress, judging from how low the hem dipped. The pants fit a bit better- the belt was fastened to its smallest setting and the waistband bunched a little, but it wasn't noticeable, and the cuffs barely dragged on the ground, pooling around her bare feet. 

         _(Y/N)_ couldn't remember ever feeling this free.

        Finally rid of her restrictive clothing, she brushed her hair over her shoulders and allowed a bright yellow to shine through with her circles.

        She stepped out of the room with her old uniform bundled neatly under one arm and her boots under the other. Peter was waiting in the short hallway, his back still turned to the door, humming along to his music.

        "What do you think?"

        He turned, one eyebrow arching up as he tried to hide a smile. "They're a bit big on you."

        "I like them,"  _(Y/N)_ remarked matter-of-factly. "They're comfy. Like a blanket."

        "They might as well be blankets. Let's go get your hip checked by Rocket, okay? Then you can sleep."

        She went still. "You're actually going to let the raccoon mess around with my cybernetic implants? I don't know if that's a good idea. He seems to think slamming things up against other things is the best remedy."

        "First off, don't call him 'raccoon'. He really, really hates that. Second off, you'll be fine. If he decides to slam you up against something, I'll stop it." A pause. "If you're uncomfortable, I'll stop it. Just say the word. I want you to feel safe with us."

        "I want to feel safe with you, too."

❖ ❖ ❖

        Rocket tapped a screwdriver up against  _(Y/N)_ 's shirt.

        "Lift, please. If I can't see your hip, I can't fix it."

        She flushed pink and glanced furtively at Peter, looking for help. He nodded encouragingly.

        "Just above your hip,  _(Y/N)_. Don't worry. Rocket's a professional."

        "Damn straight. Let's see this implant, yeah? Can't wait to get my hands on some real- sorry, sorry. Lift."

        This time, she complied. The hem of her borrowed shirt was lifted slowly to the bottom edge of her ribcage, giving Peter and Rocket a clear view of her side.

        Most of  _(Y/N)_ 's skin was a regular  _(s/c)_ color, but there was a patch of it right above her hipbone that wasn't regular- or skin, for that matter. A thin sheet of shimmery metal, almost like fabric in its flexibility, was stretched over her joint and bones, small objects that looked a bit like high-tech bolts holding down the corners and sides.

        Rocket whistled.

        "That's some legit machinery right there. Top-notch engineering."

        "Can you fix it?" Peter asked.

        "Sure I can, just a simple patch job. Gotta open up the hatch and do a bit of finagling, but it won't take that much time."        

        "Great. Thanks, man. I owe you one."

        "You owe me more than one at this point."

        "Quit while you're ahead."

        "Whatever. I'm gonna need a screwdriver and probably some sort of oil or something. The joint might need loosening up to get it to work again, or I might need to replace the part. That could take some time. Just hold on... ah, there we go."

        Rocket fished a small screwdriver out of his workbag and leaned over, placing one hand on the flexible metal plating as he began to work away at the screws.  _(Y/N)_ was barely able to hold in a gasp of pain as little bolts of fire shot through her nerves, but she did wince. It was only through sheer luck that Peter didn't notice her slip up.

        Once Rocket got to the joint, however, it was a completely different story. She had essentially been opened up, and it hurt like hell, to put it simply. Every time he removed a rusted part or shifted a wire, a wildfire of pain seemed to burn through her body. 

        Peter prided himself as an excellent judge of emotions, but this was one of his lesser moments. He didn't notice the way _(Y/N)_ had squeezed her eyes shut, the way blood drained from her face, the way her breathing sped up until Rocket finally grabbed the ball-and-socket implant and started to move it around and she finally broke down with a flinch.

        "Whoa, are you okay?" He asked with the air of a worried mother. "Rocket, hold up a minute.  _(Y/N)_ , you good?"

        "I'm fine. Just... just keep going, okay?" She forced out. "I'm fine."

        "No, you're not. Something hurts."        

        "This shouldn't hurt," Rocket argued. "It's a cybernetic implant. You shouldn't even  _feel_ any of this unless... oh, crap."

        "Oh, crap? What do you mean, 'oh, crap'?"

        " _(Y/N)_ , did they wire your implants through your nerves? Can you feel all of this right now?"

        She nodded helplessly, leaning her head over to rest it on the side of the chair. "All of it."

        "That's awful!" Peter said. "Why wouldn't you say something about it? Tell Rocket to stop, for god's sake!"

        "Not allowed."

        "Huh?"

        "I wasn't allowed. We took the implants and we didn't complain, and if it hurt, too bad for us. I'm just... I can't break these habits. He's worked these... these  _things_ into my head, and I can't get them out. Everything I do is overshadowed by him. He'll always be there."

        "Hey, hey, hey," he said soothingly. "Everything's gonna be okay. We'll have Rocket close you back up and he can get that hip checked at the next port, where you don't have to feel a thing. You're safe now,  _(Y/N)_. Thanos can't hurt you anymore."


	6. Chapter 6

   

_The minute (Y/N) opened her eyes, she knew something was wrong. This was not a regular dream. It wasn't even one of her chronic night terrors. She could tell when she was asleep and it wasn't real, and this was definitely real._

_Which meant the gargantuan figure standing directly in front of her, towering over their surroundings, was real as well._

_No. No, this can't be happening. Not again, not again, not again. I was_ _**safe.** He said I was _ _**safe.** _

_But there was no safety from Thanos._

_"Hello, little warrior. It's been some time."_

_(Y/N) shivered. His voice hadn't changed in the two years since she had escaped from Ebony with Peter and Gamora; it was still the same deep baritone that woke her up in the middle of the night after especially bad episodes._

_"Why so quiet? The (Y/N) I knew would never allow herself to be cowed into silence. Is it possible that, after all the work I did to make you who you are now, you've allowed yourself to go soft?"_

_The contempt in Thanos' voice was too much to bear._

_"The (Y/N) you knew was a spineless mouse who didn't know how to make her own decisions. I've changed."_

_"You would call a heartless mercenary 'spineless'? You were one of the most dangerous women in the galaxy, my dear."_

_"I allowed you to push me around and order me to do your dirty work."_

_"You were a killer."_

_"Killing doesn't require a spine," (Y/N) countered icily. "All it requires is the ability to turn a blind eye and ignore your conscience. Not that you would know about conscience, of course."_

_"A low blow. I'm impressed. Perhaps you have grown a bit in the years since I've seen you."_

_"I've grown, all right. In ways you wouldn't be pleased to hear about."_

_"I'm sure that's true. I'm certainly not pleased to see where you've come since I lost track of you."_

_"Good for me."_

_Thanos stared at her beseechingly; the look in his eyes made him look like he actually cared. Remorse, sadness, and anger mixed together to make a smoothie-style expression that made him look like a disappointed father. (Y/N) hated him for it._

_"Little warrior, don't you see? You were going to be my greatest accomplishment yet. The leader of my Black Order, heading up your sisters and brothers in our quest to save the universe. You do remember, don't you? The day I rescued you, I showed you the knife. The balance has to be restored."_

_At its mention, said knife seemed to grow heavier in her breast pocket, where she had safely stored it for two years. (Y/N) reached up unconsciously to place a hand over its hiding place._

_Thanos noticed. A triumphant grin grew on his face, and she wanted to claw it straight off- right before slashing his throat and ending his reign of terror._

_"You've kept it."_

_"That's irrelevant. And you didn't rescue me, you murdered my parents and kidnapped me after massacring my people. My homeland was destroyed because of you, and no matter how screwed up your twisted head is, I won't pity or return to you. I owe you nothing."_

_"On the contrary, my dear. You owe me a great deal. But that's not why I'm visiting you tonight," he said with a dismissive flick of his hand. "We have much more important matters to discuss."_

_"Then please, oh great one," (Y/N) snarked, "do grace me with the presence of your marvelous plan."_

_"You always were too sarcastic for your own good. Just like that idiotic ravager you've been traveling with, or the rodent who walks on two legs and builds weaponry."_

_A chill ran down her spine. The smirk on her face slipped away, leaving room for a horrified stare to take its place. Thanos' grin grew when he saw that his comment had made an impact._

_"Did you really think there was anywhere in the universe you could escape from me? A proverbial 'safe haven', perhaps? No, little warrior, there is no safe haven for you in this world. No matter where you go, how far you run, I will be able to find you. And when I find you, rest assured knowing I will kill you. You and everyone you've ever loved, including your team and your sister. I will go through anyone who stands in my way and leave them bleeding and drowning in agony, (Y/N) Taeven. They will curse your name and rue the day they met you and decided to take in some poor, broken assassin who can't figure out what's real and what's not."_

_Thanos paused._

_"I'll leave you to consider what I've said and make your decision."_

_"Y-you didn't give me any options," (Y/N) stammered, trying to pull the confrontation back under her control._

_"I think I did. Until next time, little warrior."_

         _(Y/N)_ woke with a strangled scream, her legs tangled in the fabric of her sheets. She kicked it off and scrambled to her feet, rushing over to the other wall as if the bed was a snake spitting poison. Beads of sweat crept down from her hairline and slid over her circles and into her eyes.

        It took a few seconds for the conversation- if you could call it that- registered in her mind, but the reaction was instantaneous.  _(Y/N)_ dragged her old knapsack out from under her cot and began to shove her belongings into it haphazardly, tears pricking at her eyes.

        She couldn't let Peter and the others get hurt. Not because of her.

❖ ❖ ❖

        The guardians had already assembled around the upstairs table by the time  _(Y/N)_ , pale and trembling, finished her packing and climbed the ladder to meet them. Over the time they had spent together, a schedule of sorts regarding wake-up times had put in order without anyone actually noticing.

        Groot barely ever slept, which helped slightly with everything. He was able to keep an eye out on their surroundings and could always wake someone up if it was needed. Rocket and Drax came next, waking up almost simultaneously and waiting in the cockpit until Gamora woke and joined them. Then came Peter, who was the type to stay up late and sleep in as much as he could.  _(Y/N)_ was always last.

        On the Sanctuary II, there had been a strict schedule in place. She had woken up every day at five in the morning exactly and had to be ready to leave on missions within ten minutes. If she hadn't been ready, some sort of punishment would be in order. 

        The habit was hard to break. In fact, she  _couldn't_ break it.  _(Y/N)_ woke up at her 'usual' time every morning and stayed in bed until after Peter had already left and she could act like she had been totally out of it the entire time. Sleeping was the most efficient method of evading conversation.

        The smell of warm bread and fresh fruit slammed into her face the minute she was clear of the ladder.  _(Y/N)_ smiled sadly, heading over to sit between Peter and Rocket, who greeted her happily.

         _They had no idea._

        She tried her hardest to act like everything was normal. She tried  _so hard._ But it's hard to keep secrets when one's sitting at the table with spies and soldiers, and Gamora was nothing if not both.

        "Are you okay?"

        Wide eyes flicked up from a bite of toast, eyebrows almost flush up against a set of peach scales.

        " 'M sphry?"

        " _Swallow,"_ Gamora muttered, exasperated. "I swear you get more like these morons every day,  _(Y/N)_. Swallow your food."

         _(Y/N)_ rolled her eyes and forced the toast down, holding an index finger up.

        "I'm sorry?"

        " _Thank you_. Are you feeling okay?"

        "Why wouldn't I feel okay? I feel fine," she said defensively.

        "Really. Because your skin is gray and you look like you're about to spazz or drop."

        "Such a great sister. So kind. I feel fine."

        "You sure?" Peter cut in, speaking through a mouthful of some sort of orange fruit. Gamora shot him a glare.

        "Yes, I'm sure. I just... had a nightmare."

        "You packed your bag."

        There was no good argument for that.  _(Y/N)_ clammed up, shrinking down in her seat like she wanted to disappear. One arm rested protectively on top of the pack, holding it close to her chest as if someone were about to take it away from her.

        Peter seemed to read her mind. "Don't worry, we won't take it away. We just want to know why you packed it. No harm done," he said with a warm smile.

        She held completely still for a moment before breaking the silence.

        "I have to leave."

        " _WHAT?!"_

The word was simultaneously shouted from all corners of the Milano as Drax and Rocket joined the conversation. It was echoed by a high-pitched " _I am Groot!"_  that was clearly just as indignant as the others.

        "What do you mean, you have to leave?" Peter asked. The wounded expression on his face made  _(Y/N)_ want to cry.

        "I'm sorry. You're all in danger as long as I'm with you, okay? My presence is a threat in itself. Just  _knowing_ me can and will get you killed, and the only way I can keep you safe is by not being here."

        "We're all pretty dangerous if that's the problem," Rocket argued. "I mean, most of us are wanted in some way, shape, or form. You don't have that much on us."

        "And you're just like me," Gamora added. "Same background. You can't possibly think that being around you is more dangerous than being around me."

        "I can,"  _(Y/N)_ snapped, "if you haven't seen Thanos in any of your dreams."

        A pause.

        "What's that supposed to mean? I see him all the time,  _(Y/N)_."

        "Does he send you messages when you're asleep? Tell you that he's coming for you and he'll kill all your friends? Your family? Your teammates? Does he give you  _visions?"_

"...Not in the way you mean. He actually contacted you?"

        "I knew it would happen eventually, but I was hoping I would get a little bit more time. He knows where I _am_ , 'Mora. Where  _we_ are. He knows about the team, our individual members, our actions... our skills. He knows about my relationships with each and every one of you. And I refuse to put you all at risk for the sake of my comfort. You can't fight me on this."

        "We can and will!" Rocket shouted indignantly. "You can't just up and leave like that! We're a  _team!_ "

        "If I stay, we won't be a team much longer. He's going to try and find me and when he does, he's going to kill you and then kill me and oh  _stars 'Mora-!"_

        "Hey, hey, it's okay," Gamora murmured. "It's okay. We're going to figure this out."

        She ran a hand gently down  _(Y/N)_ 's arm, rubbing her skin in an attempt to calm down her younger sister.  _(Y/N)_ took a few shuddering breaths before slumping forwards, her head coming roughly into contact with the table.

        "Did she faint?" Peter asked, sticking a finger dangerously close to her mouth.

        "She did  _not,"_ the person in question muttered from her position on the table. "She's  _fine._ And she's leaving no matter what you all say."

        " _(Y/N)_ -"

        "Just  _shut up_ already. I've packed my bag and my stuff's in order. Just drop me off at the next port and I'll take it from there."

        Peter, at a loss for words for the first time in his life, leaned over to tousle her hair with his free hand. The room's occupants lapsed into silence, dumbfounded by the sudden but firm realization that the Guardians of the Galaxy were about to be down a member.

        "I'm sorry, okay? I don't want to leave any of you. I don't want to have to go off on my own. But I do want to keep you safe, and if this is the only way to do it, so be it. I can't be the reason any of you are hurt," she said beseechingly. "Just let me do what I need to do. Let me make my own decision."

        Silence.

        "I am Groot."

        Rocket turned in surprise to stare at the small tree. "You can't be serious, Groot. We can't just let her  _leave._ She's a part of the team."

        "I am Groot."

        "We can protect ourselves, buddy, you know that. We're the everloving Guardians of the  _Galaxy._ "

        "I am  _Groot._ "

        "I know she wants to, but-"

        " _I am Groot_."

        Rocket snapped his mouth shut and sent a vehement glare towards his friend, fire burning in his little eyes.  _(Y/N)_ pursed her lips and stared at them both, clearly confused.

        "What did he-"

        "He said we couldn't keep you here against your will. And dammit, he's right. We can't force you to stay here if you don't want to, even if the reason you're leaving is because of us.

        Gamora said, "But you just have to know that you don't have to face this on your own. We can figure this out together,  _(Y/N)_. You don't have to fight your battles alone now that you have a team."

         _(Y/N)_ sighed sadly, raising her eyes from where they rested to gaze sadly at her friends. "I wish that was true, 'Mora. I really do. But I think we both know that it's not."

❖ ❖ ❖

        They dropped her off on Hala, which was a dangerous decision for the entire team. After all, Hala was the capital planet of the Kree empire. With Ronan the Accuser working for Thanos and heading up the search for the Guardians and Gamora- and probably  _(Y/N)_ , at that point- it wasn't a safe place for anybody.

        But it was the closest place with a large enough port for them to dock and get her settled without being noticed by any authorities, so it was apparently the only logical decision.

         _(Y/N)_ stood on the open ramp of the Milano, carefully surveying the landing area. Unlike the one on Kharis, it was positively bustling with activity. Aircraft landed one after the other, a constant flow of pedestrians made its way in and out of the port, and members of the security force watched the goings-on like hawks.

        It wasn't ideal, that was for sure.

        Peter and Gamora stood nearby. Neither of them knew what to say.

        The latter was the first to speak.

        "I've seen this before, you know."

        "Huh?"

        "The way she's acting. This is how she was back when we were with Thanos. She won't let anyone she cares about take a hit for her... Peter, I'm worried."

        "We all are. I'd be angry if you weren't."

        "I mean... she's reverting back to her training. The way she's taking everything in her surroundings into consideration, her anger this morning, how she keeps pushing us away. She doesn't want to let us get close to her."

        Peter smiled sadly and brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Sounds a lot like somebody else I know."

        "This is different, Peter. She's  _leaving_ me... just like I left her before. Do you think that's why she's doing this?"

        "I don't. I think  _(Y/N)_ is leaving because she cares about you and she wants to keep you safe. I respect that."

        "She shouldn't  _have_ to keep me safe. I can fend for myself," Gamora snapped. "She knows that."

        "She also knows that you're stubborn to the point of breaking, and she's just like you. Look, Gamora, we just have to let this play out how it plays out. You can't affect her decisions as much as you wish you could.  _(Y/N)_  already made her decision and you're going to be wasting breath if you try to fight it."

        "I know, I know. I just..."

        "Yeah." He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing it down. "I want to protect her, too. But we can't. Let's go say our goodbye's, okay? Give her a good send-off."

         _(Y/N)_ turned around when she heard them coming, a sweet curve settled complacently on her lips. She pulled Gamora into a one-armed hug- the other was gripping the strap of her bag like it was a lifeline. Peter watched awkwardly, fiddling with a small parcel in his hands.

        They broke away and, after a few whispered words, turned to face him.

        "Hey,  _(Y/N)_. You ready to go?"

        "As ready as I'll ever be. Hala's gorgeous, though. I think I'll be happy here."

        "And you'll stay safe?"

        "Since when is that even a priority in my book? ...Yeah, I'll stay safe. If it's that important to you."

        "I know. You're going to do great."

        "Was there ever a doubt?"  _(Y/N)_ asked saucily, smirking. "I'll be the greatest great to ever have greated."

        "That doesn't even make any sense."

        "It's not supposed to. What's that?" She gestured to the package, raising an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you got me a present."

        "Yeah, actually. I was gonna wait until later to give it to you, but you're leaving now, and I don't want to waste it." He passed it over carefully. "Go ahead and open it, okay?"

         _(Y/N)_ nodded and began to remove the brown paper from the outside, tucking it neatly under her free arm for safekeeping. The packaging gave way to reveal a small box that looked extremely similar to the little cassette tapes that Peter put in his walkman. On the white label, in messy handwriting, four figures had been scrawled out.

         ** _Awesome Mix Vol. 3_**

"I figured since you liked my music so much, I needed to send you off with something to remember me by." No, Peter wasn't crying. There was dust in his eyes. "So I took your favorite songs from my mixtapes to some dude on a trading planet and had him copy them onto this. I know you don't have a walkman or headphones or anything, but you're smart. I'm sure you'll figure something out. And if you don't like it I can always-"

        He was cut off by a little ball of emotion slamming into his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

        "Shut up. I love it and you can't have it back."

        Peter smiled affectionately, carding his fingers gently through  _(Y/N)_ 's smooth hair. She leaned into his touch and buried her face into the crook of his neck. They stayed that way for a moment, swaying back and forth in each other's arms until the arrival of Rocket carrying Groot on one shoulder interrupted them.

        "Hey, stargirl," Rocket muttered sarcastically.  _(Y/N)_ stared down at him, confused.

        " 'Scuse me?"

        "Stargirl. That's your new nickname. Have to have one before you, leave, right?"

        "Thanks, Rocket. I like it."

        "Good. I'm gonna..." he trailed off. "We're gonna miss you,  _(Y/N)_."

        "I am Groot."

        "Yeah. Take care of yourself, okay? No getting in trouble with the cops. We won't be around to save your ass anymore."

        "I think I can save my own ass,"  _(Y/N)_ retorted playfully. "I save _yours_ all the time."

        "Aw, shut up."

        "Stay safe," Drax rumbled. "And do not hesitate to call on us if you need us. We will be here as fast as we can."

        "Thank you. I appreciate it, Drax. Now, if we don't have any objections, I'm going to head out and do this thing. 'Kay?"

        "Yeah."

        Gamora gestured for her male companions to head back inside. They complied, which was a first, and left the two sisters alone in the half-light.

         _(Y/N)_ was silent for a minute. She nervously twirled the double-bladed knife between her fingers, biting her lip and trying to avoid Gamora's eye.

        "You've got Starkiller, right?" The elder asked.

        She nodded. "Starkiller, several blasters, my switch, and a bunch of other assorted weapons."

        "Good. Keep them on your person at all times."

        "Will do."

        Everything was still for a single blessed moment. 

        "You're okay, you know that? You're  _such_ a good person. You have  _such_ a good heart."

        "I don't think that's true."

        "It is, though. Never a truer thing. You can do this."

         _(Y/N)_ looked up, eyes shining with a mixture of sadness and pride. "I hope so."

        One last hug and she turned to leave. Gamora watched as her younger sister integrated herself into the crowd of pedestrians and disappeared from view for a second time, fading away.


	7. Chapter 7

        Grocery stores were hard to come by on Hala. The same went for markets, shopping areas, housing, and even trading places.  _(Y/N)_ found herself constantly confused by how the other citizens were getting their food and finding their houses because she couldn't seem to find a single place to get it. It was the first time she found herself thankful for her time as a mercenary. She had worked for some pretty shady people over the years and had made contact with the kings and queens of an extensive criminal underworld.

        So logically, a system that big had to have connections in the Kree Empire.

        It hadn't taken  _(Y/N)_ very long to find it. A few units transferred into the right hands bought her access to the black market- which was absolutely amazing- and a web of information at her fingertips that she couldn't have found any other way. Of course, housing was harder to come by- rooftops had been a favorite of hers for the last month or so.

        There was only one issue: units could only buy so much, and assassination happened to be in extremely high demand. She found herself falling back into her old habits without so much as a push. It only took a few weeks for killing to become commonplace again.

         _(Y/N)_ hated it, but money had to be earned to buy food and information, and she was in desperate need of both. Her conscience would have to take a week off and come back whenever she was stable- financially and otherwise.

        Another marvelous thing about the seedier side of the city was that there was never a lack of weapons- and  _(Y/N)_ never had a lack of her need for weapons.

        So that's where she found herself, loitering outside the doorway of a small apartment in the darker parts of the capital city with a black hood pulled down over her face. Pedestrians passed by without a second glance, too busy with their own lives to realize the imminent danger they were in.

         _(Y/N)_ smiled coldly. This was the way of her world. Ignored until she did something the rest of the world could incriminate her for.

        That was a shame. They were missing out on the good stuff.

        It took about thirty minutes for her supplier to send someone out to get her. A young child with blue hair and pale skin slipped out of the closed door, glancing furtively around with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Her eyes came to a rest on  _(Y/N),_ who she seemed to recognize almost immediately.

         _(Y/N)_ smirked and made her way over to where the girl was waiting, making sure to force a swagger into her step. The people making their way around the city immediately widened their paths, giving her extra room and making it harder for them to catch a glimpse of their faces.

        Blue seemed to have been effectively cowed into submission by the look on her face. She couldn't have been older than six or seven, and a pair of wide eyes made her seem even younger than she actually was.

         _(Y/N)_ glanced down at her with an appraising look on her face.

        "Are you my contact?"

        "N-no," Blue stammered. "I'm here to take you to him."

        "Good. Let's get moving, shall we? Lots of places to be, lots of people to kill, all that good stuff."

        The girl nodded frantically and ducked back into the apartment, gesturing for  _(Y/N)_ to follow her. She complied, closing the door securely behind herself and plunging them into twilight darkness. The outline of her young guide became fainter and fainter until she was forced to follow the sound of her light footsteps instead.

        The hallway led into a room that, under normal circumstances, would have looked just like every other apartment in the city. Full-length windows crisscrossed with sleek metal detailing made up one wall, giving anyone who stood behind it a good view of one of the larger parks. There was a simple kitchen on the other side, a few couches and chairs in the middle of the room, and a closed door that probably led to the bedrooms positioned between a large vase and a low table.

        The only thing out of the ordinary was the sheer amount of weapons scattered all over the furniture. There was a gun the size of  _(Y/N)_ 's leg on the armchair. The knife block, instead of being full of regular cooking knives, had been stocked with daggers and small swords. A pair of bo staffs were propped up inside the vase. A multitude of other weapons had been crammed into a pair of storage crates, both of which had been balanced precariously on the kitchen counter.

        Blue had situated herself on the couch with her legs tucked securely beneath herself.  _(Y/N)_ raised her eyebrow and peered around the room, assessing any possible threats and trying to find her contact. There wasn't anybody else in the room, and considering how it was a relatively small apartment, there was a possibility that they hadn't even decided to show up.

        "Where's your boss, kid?" She asked, lowering her voice slightly to make herself sound more threatening. It worked.

        "H-he's coming. He t-told me to show you the apartment and let you pick what you wanted. He'll be here t-to negotiate in a few m-minutes."

        Blue looked close to tears.  _(Y/N)_ winced; scaring children always made her feel guilty (probably because of her own experiences as a young child).

        "Sorry, sorry! Don't cry!" She yelped frantically, dragging a hand down her face. "Please don't cry, I don't know what to do when people cry! I'm not going to hurt you!!!"

        If anything, that made the little girl cry even harder. 

         _(Y/N)_  started to visibly panic. She buried a hand in her hair, which hung loosely around her face in a braid, and tugged on a few strands. Her circles began to glow gold, brighter than they had ever been before, and started to pulse from dull to blinding.

        Surprisingly, Blue stopped crying the minute she caught a glimpse of the scales.

         _(Y/n)_ 's eyes widened as she slowly moved from her spot on the couch to where the former was standing. The girl stared up, craning her neck, and fixed her gaze firmly on the ebb and flow of her coloration.

        "What are those?" She sniffled, reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "On your forehead?"

        "Oh,"  _(Y/N)_ said, slightly affronted by Blue's sudden change in attitude. "They're... uh, they're my circles."

        "What do they do?"

        "Show my emotions. Act as nightlights. Not much, really. They're mostly just for show."

         _I don't know. Our parents are supposed to tell us when we're older, but they're dead. Nobody else knows about them, so I'll never find out what they actually mean._

        "Well, they're very pretty," the little girl said seriously. "I wish I had them."

        "Trust me, kid, you really don't. They're not a good thing to have."

        "My name is Zara, not kid. And I don't care if they're not good, they're nice. They make your eyes look brighter."

         _(Y/N)_ 's breath caught in her throat. She brushed a hand under one eye as if she could feel the slitted pupils and the long lashes, as if she could see the dull  _(e/c)_ that had been there for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to be truly happy. To be able to see the joy in her own eyes.

        Nobody had ever told her that they liked her eyes, let alone a child. Most children screamed and ran when they saw her coming. After all, she wasn't exactly pretty- snakelike eyes, splotches of color where nobody else had them, scars, and too much muscle to ever be considered 'soft' could never be thought of like that. People saw her as a monster.

        Or maybe it was only her.

        "Th-thank you." A returned compliment seemed to be in order. "I like your hair."

        Zara grinned, exposing a pair of sharp canines."Thanks. My dad has hair just like mine, 'cept his is shorter."

        "Your dad? Is he my contact?"

        "Yup! And my brothers are coming, too. They all have hair like me, too. Except for Ollie. Ollie's adopted."

         _(Y/N)_ winced at this blatant disregard for 'Ollie's privacy. "Ollie?"

        "Ollie! He's my favorite. We 'dopted him a few years ago." She looked her up and down, her little lips puckering into a perfect heart. "He's like you."

        "Like me?"

        "Like you. A man."

        "I'm not a man, Zara,"  _(Y/N)_ said hesitantly. Was this little waif of a thing confused?

        "Not like that! He's old."

        A half-stifled laugh escaped her lips. "I'm not old, either."

        Zara seemed to reassess her first image of her guest. She squinted her eyes and reached over to where  _(Y/N)_ was crouched, tucking a single strand of  _(h/c)_ hair behind her ear. A little nod completed her inspection.

        "You're  _older,_ though. Ollie's age. Not little like me."

        "Not little like you," she confirmed with a little smile.

        The two girls were so engrossed in their conversation- Zara with the girl who had gone from terrifying to panicky over a single tear and  _(Y/N)_ with the child who treated like nobody had ever treated her before- that they didn't notice the new arrivals until a throat was cleared, snapping them out of their focus.

         _(Y/N)_ shot to attention, turning around in one swift motion to stare who she assumed to be Zara's father in the eye. In a fluid motion, her hand had come to rest on her hip, where Starkiller was folded up and sheathed.

        To his credit, the man didn't move. He stared back, clearly unimpressed, and gave her a minute to take in the group of four people who had just walked in the door.

        Zara's father was a muscular man who had to be at least six and a half feet tall. His skin was a dark shade of bronze and his eyes were nearly black, which contrasted with his bright-blue hair. It was the exact same shade as his daughter's, like the sky on a cloudless day.

        Three people stood behind him, just in front of the doorway. Two of them shared their father's features almost perfectly; the only way they could be told apart was that one of them had shoulder-length hair and the other's was shaved into intricate patterns against his scalp. Probably twins. They looked to be around fifteen or sixteen respectively.

        It was the third brother who stood out.

        He was clearly Terran, just like Peter Quill. Of course, he didn't look much like  _(Y/N)_ 's old friend. His eyes were a rich, chocolatey brown, and they seemed to be set at an angle on his face. His skin was pale and his black hair neatly trimmed, framing his face as if it were a picture.

        This must have been Ollie.

        Zara's father cleared his throat again.  _(Y/N)_ snapped her eyes right back to him, forcing the surprised teal out of her circles and conforming them all to a swirly silver.

        "You're my contact."

        "I'm your weapons dealer. Missus...?"

        "Miss,"  _(Y/N)_ stated firmly. "My name is  _(Y/N)_ Taeven. Mister...?"

        "Corrun Ziu," Corrun smirked at the subtle dig and stuck his hand out. "Nice to meet you, Taeven. Glad to be doing business with you. I see Zara was telling you about us?"

        "She was," she confirmed. "I was unaware that I had arrived early. She brought me inside. I hope I wasn't intruding?"

        "Nothing to worry about, we were a bit behind schedule today. Zara seemed to be entertaining you enough, though."

        "She's very sweet."

        "She is," Corrun agreed. "I would like to introduce you to my other children."

        He stepped aside, gesturing to each brother in turn. "This is Lev and Marr, the twins, and Ollie, my oldest."

        Lev and Marr, the blue-haired twins, both raised a hand in greeting. Ollie-  _(Y/N)_ had guessed right- narrowed his eyes and stepped past her into the kitchen, essentially ignoring the fact that she existed.

        It hurt more than it should have, but she didn't let it show.

        "Sorry about him," Corrun said. "He's tired. We had a rough day at work."

        "I understand. Should we get to business, then?"

        "Of course. We'll show you what we've got and you pick what you like. We can discuss the price afterward." He turned to the twins. "You two go with your sister and set the table. We'll eat after I'm done with Taeven."

❖ ❖ ❖

        "You wouldn't happen to have any good swords or knives, would you?" Asked  _(Y/N)_ from her seat on the ground. Her hands rested on her crossed knees and she slouched up against the couch, testing out a pair of electrified batons. She spun one in hand like one would twirl a pencil or pen.

        "I'm sure we've got some knives," Corrun replied, "but I don't know about swords. We don't deal in those sorts of weapons here. That's Thanos' lane of work."

        She twitched at the mention of her adoptive father, but he didn't notice. Well, she didn't  _think_ he noticed.

        "I see. I'd love to see some of the knives you've got if you don't mind."

        "Of course. Just let me-"

        "Da- _ad!_ _DA-AD! LEV WON'T GIVE ME THE FLOUR!"_

Zara's voice came booming in from the kitchen, followed by an indignant cry of _"SHE DOESN'T **NEED** THE FLOUR!". (Y/N) _stifled an amused smile.

        Corrun smiled sheepishly. "Do you have any kids?"

        She recoiled as if he had spat venom, wrinkling her nose in disgust.  "Of course not. I'm a mercenary, that wouldn't go well for anybody."

        "Perhaps. If you'll excuse me, I've gotta go deal with them. Ollie'll show you the knives, okay?"

        "Sounds great."

         _Sounds awful. Your son hates me and he doesn't even know me._      

        He nodded gratefully and stood, using the table for support before heading into the kitchen to quiet what had escalated into a full-scale screaming match between the twins and Zara.  _(Y/N)_ only had to wait a few minutes before Ollie, in all his angry glory, strode into the living room area with several knives in his hands and a sour expression on his face.

        He plopped down on the opposite side of the table and tossed the knives onto its surface with a careless air.

        "There you go. Knives. Take your pick, negotiate the price, and leave."

        She could've confronted him, could've told him off and left. For some reason, she kept herself calm and smiled politely.

        "Thank you."

        Ollie seemed surprised by the way she had reacted to him, but he tried his best not to show it. He just harumphed and slouched over, grabbing one of the smaller knives by the hilt and tracing its sharp edge with a finger.

         _(Y/N)_ took her sweet time inspecting each and every weapon in the pile. Every time she finished looking one over, she would place it aside and start on the next one like she had all night to choose her weapons instead of twenty or thirty minutes.

        Once she had picked out three attractive numbers with equally sharp blades, Ollie spoke again. It wasn't what she had been expecting, though.

        "You're from the Black Order, right?"

         _(Y/N)_ froze. Every muscle in her body tensed up, preparing to run, and she could tell that her circles had changed to their distinctive lime green  _fear_  beacons.

        "I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong person," she said. Her voice sounded cold and forced. "I don't know what you're talking about."

        Ollie scoffed. "Don't play dumb with me. I knew who you were when you told Corrun your last name."

        "Taeven could be a very popular name where I'm from. You shouldn't make assumptions."

        A snort.

        "I'm not stupid, glow-worm. I know a murderer when I see one. Maybe there's more than one Taeven, but there aren't two  _(Y/N)_ Taevens who happen to be mercenaries who went missing from Thanos' force a little bit over two years ago."

         _(Y/N)_ 's voice was dangerously low when she spoke again. "Do you work for him?"

        "I'd rather die. I want him gone."

        "So do I, buddy. Nobody wants him gone more than I do."

        "Sure. You're his  _kid,_ Taeven. Everybody knows who you and your sisters are."        

        "I defected. I don't work for him anymore, okay? I didn't go missing, I killed one of my brothers and made a run for it."

        "Right. That's a great story."        

        "Not a story. Look, I get that you don't like me." She sighed. "I'm not staying here much longer. You're never going to see me again after this, so we can just finish our business like the civilized adults we aren't and I'll be on my way."

        Ollie's angry expression darkened to something more like hate. "I want to talk to you about this. Now. Because I want you to know what I mean when I say that I hate you. This isn't meaningless." He sounded almost desperate. Desperate for validation, for someone to tell him he was right and that everything was going to be okay.  _(YN)_ wished she could give it to him.

        "Then explain it to me. Give it meaning, because right now it seems like you've got a lot of animosity towards me and it isn't warranted."

        "He's the reason I live with Corrun. The reason I had to be adopted in the first place."

         _Oh. Maybe it was warranted after all._

        "I'm sorry,"  _(Y/N)_ said sadly. "He killed your parents?"

        "Both of them. I don't even remember where I'm from at this point. They tell me I'm from a place called Terra, where Thanos hasn't even been. But they're wrong. I know it was him, and I don't understand how they could be dead and how I ended up  _here_ if he didn't make it there. The only logical explanation is that it was one of his children." He shot an accusing look in her direction. "I think you know where I'm going with this."

        "That's perfectly logical, yes. But it couldn't have been me. I'm around your age, and I'm not even one of Thanos' legitimate children. I'm a bit like you, actually."

         _There we go. Now he looks surprised, not angry. At least he doesn't hate me anymore. Or look like he's trying to burn holes in my skull, anyways._

"He killed my parents, too," she stated bluntly. "And my friends. My entire race, the Xhareians. Thanos came to our planet, decimated us, and brought me with him. He trained me and corrupted me and made me into what you see today, I'm truly sorry to hear that he hurt you. But he's hurt so many people, and I swear on my life I don't work for him anymore. I left before he could make me kill again. I would swear on the life of my mother if that would make it more effective, but I'm afraid that promise is null and void."

        Silence. 

        "How old were you?"

        "Six years old. And you?"

        "Seven."

        "It always happens too early,"  _(Y/N)_ murmured. "But at least we're not dead with them, right?"

        "Yeah. I guess. Look, Taeven, I still don't trust you," Ollie said. "But you seem alright. For the record. You know."

        "Yeah, I know. And you seem pretty okay, too."

        A few minutes later, Corrun came in from the kitchen with Zara perched on his hip. "Did you find what you needed?" He asked.

         _(Y/N)_ cut a glance in Ollie's direction, smiling slightly. "I think I did. Thank you."


	8. Chapter 8

        Corvus Glaive rushed into Thanos' throne room, his feet pounding relentlessly against the polished stone floors. A fist-sized orb rested in the palm of his hand, glowing with an eerie blue color that seemed to shift hues with his every movement. 

        A locator.

        "My lord," he rasped, falling to his knees with reverence in front of the throne. "There's been a breakthrough in the search."

        Thanos turned around in his seat and assessed his servant nonchalantly. The expression on his face betrayed no emotion whatsoever, staying completely neutral as he changed positions.

        "Have you, now? It's been quite a long time since it began. I was hoping you would get me results sooner, Glaive."

        He gulped nervously, trying to keep his hands still. "Of course, my lord, I wished the same. The girl was surprisingly difficult to find in the long run. Every time we found a trace she disappeared again."

        "I trained her myself. Of course she was difficult to find. I honestly expected her to make it longer than four months without detection. She was one of my main projects, you know. Raised her myself."

        "Yes. Would you like for me to tell you where she is?"

        "Go ahead, go ahead. We'll see if you're right," Thanos ordered with a dismissive wave of his hand.

        Glaive held up the orb. "Some of your researchers have been working with this for the last few months. It's a locator made specifically to target the patch of bio-synthetic material covering Taeven's right hip and her implants, as well as any beacons that our hunters may have sent up. Since she's the last of her kind and therefore isn't exactly one to fit in with the crowds, we figured it wouldn't be incredibly difficult to track her down. The techs just alerted me that a beacon has been sent up."

        Pause for dramatic effect...

        "And where would that beacon have come from?"

        "Right under our noses, my lord. The capital of the Kree Empire, Hala. A planet inside a large Magellanic cloud near Pama. Right next to Galaxy-666, which contains another- slightly less civilized, may I add- empire known as Terra."

        A cruel smile curled over Thanos' lips. "I see. And how long would it take for you to send out an extraction team and bring Taeven back to me?"

        "Not long at all, sir, provided I gain permission."

        "Good answer. Alert Nebula immediately and bring her with you. Proxima as well. Move quickly and without notice, and bring my daughter back to the Sanctuary within the fortnight."

        "I can have her back in two days, my lord."

        "Splendid. You are excused, Glaive. Consider your past offense pardoned- for now."

        The brief moment of relief Corvus had been experiencing ended as suddenly as it started. If  _(Y/N)_ wasn't found, things on the Sanctuary would probably get much, much worse.

❖ ❖ ❖

        "No, no, no, no, no!  _No!_ "

         _(Y/N)_ muttered a brief curse under her breath as she hurried away from the town square, her head tucked down and the collar of her jacket pulled up to her neck to try and hide her facial features. She moved into the crowd as quickly as she could. People of all different races walked around her as if she were a stone in the center of a stream, just another object to go around. An obstacle.

         _(Y/N)_ was swept up in the movements of the people surrounding her, and for once, she went willingly into their clutches.

        They were her last defense, however much it shamed her to admit it.

        The day had been going fine.  _(Y/N)_ had just gotten paid for her latest job- the assassination of a prominent political figure that had been ordered by one of his opponents. It had been easy enough, taking about two hours to plan and even less time to carry out. A few pulse points and a turned-on stove with a bit of extra kindling later, and the man was dead. Everyone would think he had fallen asleep in the middle of cooking dinner and the apartment had burned down. She hadn't left a trace behind; it was one of the simplest missions she had ever completed.

        So why, when she had left the building, had Corvus Glaive and Nebula been waiting for her?

        Fortunately, they had been so absorbed in their conversation- or argument,  _(Y/N)_ hadn't been able to tell- that she had been able to slip away unnoticed. 

        Unfortunately, she hadn't stayed unnoticed for long. Nebula was just as good at what she did as _(Y/N)_ and Gamora were, and it had only taken her a minute or two for her to realize that their mark had left the building. Thirty seconds later, they were in hot pursuit.

         _(Y/N)_ was not thrilled. No, quite the opposite. The minute she finally starts getting adjusted to life on Hala, actually starts thinking she could make a life there, an impromptu family reunion had to pop up and ruin it all.

         _Ollie's going to hate me..._

Damn straight. But it wasn't like he had anything better to do. Being the kid of a weapons dealer only gave him so much to do, and once that was over, he normally ended up getting bored out of his mind. And nobody liked a bored Ollie.

         _Well,_ she thought,  _I'll just have to liven up his day, won't I?_

_Yeah, he's still going to hate me._

Truer words had never been spoken.

❖ ❖ ❖

        Ollie had clearly still been asleep when  _(Y/N)_ breezed down the alleyway, trying her best to blend in with a pair of maniacs on her tail, and banged on his front door with the force of a hurricane.

        No answer.

        Three more successive knocks on the metal with as much strength as she could muster up.

        Still no answer. The Ziu family must've had a late night.

         _(Y/N)_ sighed angrily and shook her head. Then, with gritted teeth, she placed a hand on the doorknob and clenched her fist with bone-crunching ease.

        The locking mechanism clicked and opened with a prod from her powers, and the door swung inwards to reveal the barrel of a gun and Ollie's worried face.

        "Oh, my god!" He whisper-shouted, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into the house. "What the hell, Taeven?!"

        "I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"  _(Y/N)_ muttered frantically, "I need your help!"

        "At five in the morning?!"

        "Yes! Ollie, they're after me again! I have to get out of here."

        "Who's after you? What the  _hell_ is going on?"

        "Thanos! Thanos sent my sister to take me back, he wants me back, Ollie  _I CAN'T GO BACK!_ "

        By the end of the sentence,  _(Y/N)_ was practically screaming. Ollie tried to hush her, looking around nervously for any open windows, but the apartment seemed to be closed off well enough.

        "Hey, hey, hey. It's okay, I won't let them take you. I'll keep you safe, Lightbulb. You're safe here."

        "No, no, no, no. Ollie, they're going to take me away-"

        "They won't. I promise I won't let anybody take you,  _(Y/N)_ ," Ollie murmured. "Just quiet down for me, okay? We don't need to wake up my siblings."

        Too late.

        Corrun came out first, a gun in each hand, looking cautiously around. He had an awful case of bedhead; his blue hair was practically standing up straight on his head. When he caught sight of his son comforting a hyperventilating  _(Y/N)_ , his expression changed immediately to one of bemusement and concern.

        Lev, Marr, and Zara were next. The twins carefully held their younger sister behind themselves, using their bodies as shields in case there was a threat in the living room. Zara clearly wasn't happy about this- she kept pushing their hands away and trying to worm her way between them to see what was going on.

        "Ollie, what's going on?" Corrun asked as he put the guns down on a side table, switching the safety on. "What's wrong with her?"

        "She says Thanos-"

        At the sound of her stepfather's name, a keening wail escaped  _(Y/N)_ 's mouth. She melted into Ollie's chest, wrapping her arms around his back and trying to hide. He was quick to remedy his error.

        "Sorry, sorry. She says  _he_ sent somebody to take her back. I can't get anything else out of her; she's not making any sense. Everything's just repetition and I don't understand what's happening. Do you think she relapsed or something?"

        Corrun quirked an eyebrow. "It's a viable possibility. She might've fallen back into the mindset she was in back when she was with Th-  _him."_

        "And that mindset is...?"

        "A scared child, probably. She needed a protector so she came to you. Simple as that."

        Zara, who had been watching the proceeds with wide, scared eyes, slipped around Lev and pattered across the room to stand in front of Ollie. She peered around his back to look  _(Y/N)_ up and down, her features scrunching up. She had never seen the older girl in any state except for calm indifference and the occasional bout of happiness, so terror was a completely new phenomenon for her.

        "Ollie, what's wrong with  _(Y/N)_?" She asked nervously. "She looks scared."

        "She is scared, sweetheart," Ollie said patiently. "But she'll be okay in a few minutes."

        "Why's she scared?"

        "Because there are some bad people after her. People who want to hurt her. Do you understand what I mean?"        

        Zara nodded seriously. "Like her daddy and her sister?"

        "Yeah. Like her daddy and her sister. We're not going to let her get hurt, though, okay?"

        "Okay." Zara crept around Ollie to face  _(Y/N)_ , her bottom lip stuck out. "Your circles are green," she observed. "You're scared."

        The only answer she got was a choked sob.        

        "Yeah, she's scared right now," Ollie said. "It's okay to be scared."

        "I know."

        Zara placed a small hand on  _(Y/N)_ 's forehead, stroking her pointer fingers gently across her role model's temple with the care of a loving mother. Unknowingly,  _(Y/N)_ leaned into her touch. It had been a long time since somebody had given her the physical comfort she needed.

        The little girl seemed to know what to do. She got up on her tiptoes and pulled  _(Y/N)_ down into a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck and stroking her hair. 

        "We won't let the bad men get you. Daddy'll shoot them and they'll go away."

        That elicited a muffled giggle from  _(Y/N)_ , who slowly pulled away from Ollie and Zara with a sniff. She subtly wiped the tears in her eyes away, taking a few seconds to pull herself back together and force her circles to fade back to silver.

        "I shouldn't have come here," she said sadly. "I've put you all in danger. If they find you-"

        "Shut up already," Ollie said sharply. "You did right in coming here. You don't have to fight alone anymore, remember? You've got us now. Don't be an idiot."

        "Thanks,"  _(Y/N)_ sniffled. "You really don't have to help me, though."

        Ollie rolled his eyes. If he had learned anything in the past month or so, it was that she was notoriously stubborn and indepentent- which wasn't always a good thing. More often than naught, there was a chance that she wouldn't tell anyone about her problems and would probably end up getting in some sort of trouble for it.

        The Ziu family had been acting as  _(Y/N)_ 's weapons supplier for most of her stay on Hala, but over time, they had become more like a family than anything else. Ollie and  _(Y/N)_ in particular had formed a tight bond, turning from enemies to allies to close friends. They had both needed a confidant for their past trauma, so they had both started acting as each other's psychologist.

        It was surprisingly helpful.

         _(Y/N)_ talked to Ollie about his parents and helped him formally mourn his losses, and in turn, he helped her recover from her experiences with Thanos and the Black Order.

        It was his turn to be the shoulder to cry on.

        Corrun gestured for the twins, who had been watching with confusion painted onto their faces, to take Zara into the kitchen. Neither of them argued and complied happily, seeming to understand the levity of the situation.

        Once the three younger family members had taken their leave, Corrun, Ollie, and  _(Y/N)_ sat down on the couches. The latter leaned into her friend's shoulder, gripping the hem of his shirt between clenched fingers like it was her lifeline.

        "Okay, Lightbulb, we're going to figure this out." Corrun placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forwards. "I promise you. I need you to tell us what you know so we can help you get out of this. Can you do that?"        

         _(Y/N)_ nodded. "Th- he sent two of my siblings, Corvus Glaive and Nebula. Nebula was one of my favorite sisters when I was growing up, but she probably hates me because I left, so that won't help much. If anything, it'll make her want to kill me even more. 

        "Corvus Glaive is one of the leaders of the Black Order. That's  _his_ elite guard. They're second only to me, 'Mora, and Nebby- Nebula, sorry. He's got this gigantic spear and he's really good with it. Most people can't beat him. He's... he's really dangerous.

        "Nebula fights with batons that have been charged with electricity, but she can use other weapons, too. If Glaive's dangerous, she's worse. And she holds grudges, too. When Gamora left us, she swore to kill her. And since I left her, I'm probably no better off."

        Ollie rolled his eyes. "You're really good at pissing people off, you know that? Especially the dangerous ones."

        "I've been told that's one of my best qualities,"  _(Y/N)_ muttered. 

        "And how far away were they when you got here?"

        "I... I don't know. I had tried to fade into the crowd to get away and lost sight of them. They might not have found me again, but I don't... I should leave. This is too dangerous."

        "Again, shut up. This is what friends do for each other, okay? So quit thinking we're going to kick you out and make you fight alone."

         _(Y/N)_ smiled gratefully and nudged Ollie's arm. "Thank you."        

        "No problem."

        Corrun spoke up. "So you think they're getting close?"

        "Nebula's good at what she does. If they're coming, they're coming now. I don't want them to hurt any of you."

        He thought for a moment, ruffling his bright hair. 

        "I think I can get you a ship off of Hala. You can escape and stay somewhere else until it's safe. I think that's the best option for you right now."

        "Do you know anywhere I could go?"

        "No. I'm a weapons dealer, Lightbulb. I don't have any safehouses on nearby planets, and you should probably get out of this quadrant at least. The farther away, the better. Ollie can take you to my ship."

        "I don't want to take your ship. You need it," she protested. "That's too much."

        "Nah. I can get another one easily," Corrun said dismissively. "Ollie, get Taevento the  _Topaz_ and make sure she's okay, then hightail it back here."

        He turned to address  _(Y/N)._

"I would take you myself, but if there's an attack, I need to be here to protect Zara, Marr, and Lev. You understand that."

        "Of course. Thank you, Corrun."

        "No need to thank me. I'd do it for any member of my family, blood or no."

        Her heart warmed at this blatant statement of trust and kindness. The Ziu family truly was like nobody else.

        "Alright." He clapped his hands. "You'd better get moving if you want to make it in time. The ship's just outside, in the street that branches off of the back alley. No keys are needed. You get in and get out of here, Taeven. Get somewhere safe. We'll contact you when you've settled in, or vice versa. Got it?"

        "Got it." _(Y/N)_ nodded. "Thank you again. I really appreciate it."

        "And again, there's no need to thank me. Now, get out of here. I'll distract Zara and the boys until you're off of Hala. Ollie, remember. I want you back the minute (Y/N)’a off the ground. Am I understood?”

        Ollie made a noise of assent, but his pinched face made it clear that he wasn’t at all happy with the arrangements.

        “Good. Now got out of here. And Taeven?”

        “Yes?”

        “Stay safe.”

❖ ❖ ❖

        Ollie led (Y/N) out the back door, sneaking her past his siblings as Corrun entertained them. It opened onto an all-but-deserted side street lined with trash cans and dumpsters. The street itself was so unassuming that the ship parked next to a fire escape jumped out immediately.

        Explained simply, the Topaz looked like it belonged to an arms dealer. It was all shiny black metal, tinted windows, and chrome plating, practically built for stealth.

        “Your dad has style,” (Y/N) remarked happily. “I’m impressed.”

        "That's not style. No red, no gold. That's someone trying to be cool," Ollie muttered. "Go on, get in and leave."

        She furrowed her brow. "Excuse me? Ollie, I don't  _want_ to leave. This isn't ideal. You can't blame me for wanting to survive, okay?"

        "I know, I know. I just... I don't want you to leave. If you go, I'm probably never going to see you again. And I don't want that. You're pretty fun to be around, most of the time."

        "Most of the time?" She joked.

        "Sometimes you're insufferable and annoying. But I like you anyways, so just... go ahead and leave."

        The pout on Ollie's lips made  _(Y/N)_ want to burst out laughing- and simultaneously broke her heart.

        "Ollie-"

        " _There!"_

A shout from the mouth of the alley broke them out of their conversation.  _(Y/N)_ whirled around and brought one hand up, preparing to fight, when she saw Nebula and Glaive blocking their only chance of escape.

        Nebula looked murderous.

        "Okay, time to go!" Ollie shouted. He grabbed  _(Y/N)_ by the collar of her shirt and strode across the narrow corridor to where the plane sat, opening the main door and shoving her in. He followed close behind, moving so quickly that she couldn't even stop him.

        "What are you doing?" She snapped.

        "Saving your life! It's my dad's plane and I'm flying you out of here. Buckle up, Lightbulb, because we're going for a ride!"

        "Corrun told you to go back inside, Ollie. He's going to kill you!"

        "If I'm not there I can't be killed. I'll contact him later and explain that it wasn't safe; don't worry. He'll understand."

        "I don't want to drag you into this."

         _(Y/N)_ was starting to get desperate. She scrambled to her feet and made her way up to the cockpit in a valiant- but unsuccessful- attempt to push her friend out of the ship and back to safety.

        A blast rocked the  _Topaz_ , jostling its occupants and rocking it on its foundations. _(Y/N)_ cursed. 

        "Okay, okay, start the engines and get us out of here. We'll argue about this later."

        "Oh, I have no doubts."

❖ ❖ ❖

        The ride was smooth until Ollie steered his father's ship into a smaller galaxy in the  _Sol_ star system.  _(Y/N)_ sat in the passengers seat, fiddling with one of the knives in her belt as she watched the stars and planets pass by. It reminded her of her itme on the Milano, with her sister and friends and that constant feeling of  _safety._ A feeling she hadn't had the luxuries of lately.

        "You doing okay?" He asked, glancing over from his seat behind the controls. "You're quieter than usual."

        "Just thinking. How're you going to explain this all to your dad?"

        Ollie shrugged. "I dunno. I'll figure that out when I-  _oh, hell!"_

        He jerked the wheel roughly to one side, trying to avoid a large asteroid that had seemingly hurtled out of nowhere.  _(Y/N)_ screeched as she was thrown against the window, knocking her head against the thick glass so hard that her brain seemed to rattle in her skull.

        "Hold on, this is about to get rough!"

        Understatement of the century.

        Ollie threw the  _Topaz_ into a series of violent rolls and turns, skirting narrowly around asteroids and other hunks of space debris.  His hands flew furiously across the controls- he was sending out beacons. 

        No, not beacons. Distress signals.

        "What are you doing?!"  _(Y/N)_ asked, indignant. "They'll find us!"

        "We'll be dead if we don't. Just cover your head and protect your extremities. You're bleeding."        

        She reached a pair of fingers up and stroked them over her temple, and when she inspected them, they dripped red. 

        Ollie reached under his seat and pulled out what looked like a first aid kit, tossing it across the median with ease. It landed in  _(Y/N)_ 's lap and she immediately set to patching her injury up.

        Her attention was taken off of the dilemma at hand for only a few seconds, but that was more than enough time for Ollie to miss the dark shape that came hurtling towards the ship in the corner of his eye, just out of his range of vision. 

        The asteroid slammed straight into the left side of the  _Topaz,_ right where  _(Y/N)_ was sitting, and sent it flying off course.  _(Y/N)_ was immediately knocked unconscious, crushed up against the arm of her chair by a crumpled wall of metal.

        As Ollie's vision faded out of focus, partly from lack of oxygen and partly from their rapid acceleration, a strange shape came into view. Large, spherical, multicolored... and were those  _clouds?_

Everything went black.


	9. Chapter 9

        "Agent Barton, I'm going to need you to report to our New York base immediately. We have a situation up here."

        Clint groaned, rolling out of bed with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. It wasn't like he had been planning anything else- because he had actually been bored out of his head and about to resort to binge watching some sort of trash television- but still. It was too early for that sort of thing.

        And by early he meant three o'clock in the morning. 

        " 'M sorry?" He slurred, taking another long sip of his coffee. "You wan' me to do wha'?"

        " _Agent Barton."_ Phil was obviously getting annoyed, and that didn't happen often. The guy was like a brick wall- no emotions except for when he was fangirling over Captain America. Those sunglasses made it really hard for even the most skilled agents to get a read on him.

        " 'S too early, Phil. Call back in the  _morning,_ man."

        "It  _is_ the morning, and this can't wait. Director Fury told me to call you in and we're not taking no as an answer. Get your ass upstate, now."

        "Coffee?"

        "No, Clint," Phil groaned. "No coffee. Upstate in an hour. Life or death. Move your ass."

        The line went dead. The coffee fell.

        And Clint loaded his gear into the monster of a pickup truck that had been parked, unused, in his driveway for longer than he cared to admit.

        Coffee truly was a blessing. Both of the cupholders were occupied by eighteen-ounce tumblers, steaming hot and perfect. Clint chugged both of them within the first ten minutes of his trip.

        He would be having a talk with Coulson later. The man was his handler and one of his closest friends; he should've known better than to wake him up this early. Nothing good ever came of a tired Barton. Long-range weapons required both a sharp eye and a sharp mind, and when Clint had just been woken up, he had neither.

        The drive took about two hours on the interstate. He sped and changed lanes like an absolute maniac, and because of the SHIELD symbol on the back of his truck window- marking him as an official agent- he was ignored by the police altogether.

        Ah, the perks of working for a government organization and getting to do whatever the hell he wanted without consequence.

        The roads were all but deserted as Clint moved from the highways onto SHIELD property. Security cams and checkpoints lined the roads, but all were seemingly abandoned. In fact, the place looked like a ghost town.

        Until he reached the base itself.

        The place was like an ant pile that had just been stepped on. SHIELD agents and personnel swarmed around the main buildings in agitated crowds, pushing past each other like they had better places to be. Weapons were loaded off of vans and handed out to the guards and field agents, who then ran in unorderly lines around the back of the buildings and disappeared.

        Clint stopped his truck in the middle of the road and hopped out, grabbing his bow and quiver from the passenger seat and slinging them over his shoulders. They contrasted with his purple t-shirt, ripped jeans, and tennis shoes, but he hadn't exactly had time to change. Sue him.

        Nat met him halfway to the crows, Coulson at her side. She had clearly been more prepared for an attack, clad in her combat uniform with her curls combed back. Her widow-bites were all charged up, glowing blue and white and charging their surroundings with the undeniable scent of ozone.

        Phil was as unreadable as always.

        "You gonna tell me why I'm here?" Clint asked gruffly, narrowing his eyes at his handler. 

        "We've had a bit of an incident," Phil said sheepishly. "A foreign object crashed in the forest a few miles from here and you and Agent Romanoff were needed."

        "So a u.f.o. smashed into your backyard and you called  _me_ in? Dude, I'm an archer. That's  _so_ not in my job description. Can I go home now?"

        "That's not the problem, Clint," Natasha cut in. "The  _problem_ is that the scientists detected a life form inside, and nobody here is equipped to deal with an alien issue. And they've confirmed that the object is, in fact, a ship. So they called us in. Don't make them regret it."

        "Are you tellin' me that there's been an alien ship inside of SHIELD property for over two hours and you've done nothing about it?"

        "We've surrounded the area with armed troops, Agent. Whatever- or whoever- it is won't be able to get out without a fight."

        "Well, sorry to tell you this, but our visitor's probably  _dead_ by now. How badly was the ship messed up?"

        "You'll have to come and assess the damage yourself," Coulson muttered dryly. "It's a total mess, I'll tell you that. Getting in there's going to be hard."

        Clint waved a hand. "It's SHIELD, man. We're gonna be fine."

❖ ❖ ❖

        So maybe they weren't going to be fine.

        The crash scene was, in fact, 'a total mess'. Rubble was strewn across the woods within a two-mile radius of the wreck, ranging from smoldering hunks of metal to tangled wires and half-burned seat cushions.

        So whoever it was had to be intelligent- or had to have access to some sort of intelligent life. And to drive a ship, they had to be sentient. Maybe this was an actual issue.

        "You're gonna have to send out a cleanup crew, Phil," Clint remarked. "The place is a mess. Unless 'burnt' was the aesthetic you guys were going for when you set up here. If it was, you've done a hell of a job with it. Well done."

        Phil just sighed and shook his head.

        "It's too early for this."

        "That's what I said this morning when you woke me up at three, but you ignored it anyways! Are we there yet?"

        "Oh my god," Natasha groaned. "Clint, we're not doing this right now."

        "I don't know what in the world you're referring to."

        "Please just... whoa."

        Whoa, indeed. In the middle of a recently-created blast crater lay a twisted hunk of metal and glass, smoldering away. Shards of sharp material littered the ground and Clint had to be careful not to step on anything lest they poke straight through his shoes and into his feet. Natasha's combat boots were much better suited to their situation; the soles were thick enough to keep glass and metal at bay.

        Several men and women in tactical gear stood around what had once been a ship, their weapons trained on the 'nose'. They stepped aside to make room for the three agents, then closed back in once they had passed the barricade.

        "There's something  _alive_ in that?" Clint asked, aghast. "Are you  _serious?"_

        "The scientists say that whatever it is definitely hasn't stopped breathing yet, but they're completely unresponsive to outside stimuli. We have no way of getting to them. You and Romanoff are going to have to figure this out."

        "That metal's probably red-hot and neither of us is equipped for this sort of an issue," Nat argued. "What do you want to do with the life form, anyway? Dispatch it cleanly and get it out?"

        "Nat's right. Is this a rescue mission or a kill mission?"

        "For now, we're calling it an extraction. Just get them out and we'll figure it out then. Be careful, agents."

        Clint looked like he wanted to fight Coulson on the subject, but a severe glare from his female partner shut him up quickly and effectively. He sent one last resentful look in his direction before following Natasha towards the wreckage, sliding down the slick surface of the crater and almost slamming into a sharp piece of metal. Her descent was much more graceful, as she managed to avoid nearly impaling herself on anything.

        "You're really tired, aren't you?" She asked wryly. "I mean, what the hell's wrong with you?"

        "I'm hopped up on caffeine and exhaustion. Gimme a break."

        Nat held her hands up in mock surrender as she edged carefully around to the front of the ship, trying to find a way to get in. Clint moved the other way, meeting her on the right side.

        "I don't see any entrances, but the left side looks like it's been crushed pretty badly. The structure could be compromised, so it could be the best way to get in. Of course, the entire thing could collapse if we don't do this right, so we've got to be careful."

        "Since when am I not careful?"

        "Clint, you're never careful. Here, take this end. It doesn't look too hot."

        She gestured to a corner of the crumpled metal, taking the other side in her hands and hissing.

        "It's not as bad as it could be. Let's do this fast and get it done."

        Clint nodded and gripped the sharp edge, pulling up as quickly as he could and ripping the thin material away. Natasha did the same, giving the sheet a harsh kick once she was finished as if it had personally offended her.

        A single hand fell over the edge, draped motionlessly across the threshold, palm facing up. Clint's mouth dropped open as he followed it up to a forearm, then to a shoulder, then to a face.

        A young woman was draped over the passenger seat, her eyes closed and her lips parted ever so slightly. Messy strands of  _(h/c)_ hair fell over her face, which was streaked with dirt and slightly flushed from the heat. Her body was completely limp, and for a minute, he thought she was dead.

        Her chest spasmed once, twice, three times with body-racking coughs before she went still again.

        Natasha snapped out of her stupor and quickly reached into the spacecraft, gripping the woman by the shoulders and dragging her out with the practiced efficiency of a trained soldier. Her feet dragged over the rubble as she scrambled backward, readjusting her grip to place an arm around and make the weight easier to bear.

        "Help me!" She growled, glaring at Clint furiously. "Take her, now!"

        He nodded and slung his bow across his shoulders again, scooping the girl up and racing out of the pit just in time to avoid being incinerated by a violent explosion.

        It took a minute for the two agents to recover from their shock, ears ringing and noses bleeding from the impact. This time, it was Clint who broke the silence.

        "What the  _hell?!"_

❖ ❖ ❖

        Coulson and his medical team were quick to file in and take their guest away once the threat of explosion and death by combustion was over. She was whisked away in a flurry of black suits, combat boots, and medical scrubs. Before long, it was just Natasha and Clint in the brand-new clearing.

        And Natasha clearly wasn't planning on hanging around.

        "Are you coming?" She asked, getting to her feet as gracefully as a professional dancer.

        "Why?" Clint groaned from his place on the ground. "I'm so tired that I'll probably just fall down again."

        "You're truly insufferable. If you get up, I'll buy you a coffee and you can go to sleep in a real bed instead of down in the dirt."

        "Really?"

        "No. Just the second part. But you have to take a shower first, and we're going to drop by and see the girl."

        " 'The girl'. That sounds weird. What do you think her name is?"

        "I don't know and I don't care. For now, she's 'the girl' and you're exhausted."

         " 'S Phil's fault. Woke me up."

        "I'm aware. Come on, get up. You'll feel better once you've slept."

        "Nah."

        " _Yes."_

        The walk back to the base was a long one. Well, not really. It just  _felt_ long. Natasha had to practically carry Clint over her shoulder, keeping him from tripping over rocks and sticks and all manner of crazy shrapnel. He was several inches taller than her and had to be fifty or so pounds heavier, but she was a Russian ex-assassin. She could easily lug her idiot partner around for the better part of a week before she had to drop him.

        Still, it was a bit early in the morning for that sort of a kerfuffle. The sun wasn't even up yet, the sky bathed in a dove gray color, and the moon was still visible.

        Natasha knew how much Clint valued his sleep, his coffee, and his pizza. That day, he had only been able to check one of those boxes- coffee- and apparently, he hadn't had nearly enough.

        Or maybe he had chugged an entire coffee machine. Nobody ever knew with him.

        "You doing okay over there?" She asked after a sudden realization that Clint had been silent for all of two minutes struck her. That was a relatively long time for him, so the concern was warranted.

        Her only reply was a snore.

        The idiot had fallen asleep.

        Natasha sighed, shook her head, and finished the trek back to headquarters. She was met by a concerned team of field medics and had to wave them off, telling them that no, Clint was not dead, unconscious, or on his way to being either. He was simply a doofus who needed to figure out a healthier sleep schedule.

        The field medics seemed to be idiots, as she had to repeat herself several times.

        Wow. SHIELD was just full of idiots. That was slightly off-putting.

        "Agent Romanoff?"

        Natasha turned around swiftly, trying to steady her 'passenger's head while looking as regal as always. Of course, she succeeded. She was the Black Widow, after all.

        The little intern with square glasses and a crooked bowtie cleared his throat nervously, fiddling with a pen and a clipboard.

        "Agent Coulson needs you in the infirmary. You and Agent Barton. If he can't come, it's okay... you could just drop him off and come back. He says it's pretty- I mean  _very-_ urgent. Yeah, very urgent."

        "Agent Barton's incapacitated right now," Natasha said with a wry smile. "But you can tell Coulson that we're on our way."

        He nodded and scurried off, his converse sneakers tapping away against the floor until he disappeared from view and hearing range.

        "Well, Clint, I guess we're not done bothering Coulson quite yet. Your coffee will have to wait."

        Even asleep, Clint groaned at the mention of his beloved caffeine. She smiled and ruffled his spiky hair, shaking her head slightly.

        "You really are a mess."

❖ ❖ ❖

         _(Y/N)_ was burning. Everything was burning. The ship, her beloved knapsack, Ollie... 

         _Ollie._

Where was he? Why couldn't she see him? Why wasn't he responding to her?

        "Ollie?"

        No answer. 

         _"OLLIE?!"_

Still nothing. A few voices mumbled something, but the words were fuzzy, hard to make out, and definitely  _not_ Ollie's. What in the world was going on?        

         _(Y/N)_ tried to sit up, but her wrists caught on something cold and jerked her back into the bed. She winced as her head slammed into the pillow and pulled at one wrist, then the other. Metal cut into her skin.

        Handcuffs.

        The sudden realization sent her into a total frenzy of motion and panic. She channeled every bit of energy in her body down into her hands, reaching out with her mind and effectively shattering the restraints.

        It was only then that she opened her eyes.

        The barrels of at least twenty guns were pointed at her head from across the room; their owners were hidden behind thick shields made of some sort of clear material. A pair of men in green scrubs and sneakers stared at  _(Y/N)_ from behind the barricade, eyes wide and nervous.

        She raised her hands slowly, carefully, and placed them behind her head. Then, without a minute of warning, she jerked to the right.

        Guns, shields, and people alike went flying in all directions. An armored man slammed into the wall behind  _(Y/N)_ and almost fell onto the cot- a quick twitch of her middle finger moved him to the side enough to avoid being crushed.

        The men in green were the only people left standing. They backed up until they were up against a door, hands groping blindly for the doorknob.

        "Everyone calm down!"

        Two new people raced into the room, shoving the men aside and pushing them out of the room. One of them, a petite woman with red hair and a small gun in each hand, kicked the door closed behind her and cautiously began to make her way across the room, kicking unconscious people aside as she went.

        The other person was a man with spiky hair, pale skin, and an odd weapon in his hands. It took a minute for  _(Y/N)_ to recognize it- a revamped bow made of black material. The arrow was trained on the patch of skin between her eyes.

        "Where's Ollie?" She asked harshly. Her gaze flickered back and forth between the two new arrivals, trying to assess their individual threat levels at the same time. "What've you done with him?"

        "Ollie?" The man asked, his voice low and calm. "I think  you've taken a shock, ma'am."

        "No, I haven't! Where's Ollie?! Did you hurt him?"

        "We didn't hurt anybody, I promise. Who's Ollie?"

        "He's my friend. He was flying the  _Topaz."_

" _Topaz?_ Are you talking about your ship?"

        "Yes, that's it!"  _(Y/N)_ nodded. "He was flying it when we took a hit. He sent up a distress call, but an asteroid slammed into us before anybody could reach us. Did you get it?"

        "The distress call didn't reach us," the woman said bluntly. "Your ship was destroyed, and there was nobody in the driver's seat. You were the only life form present at the time and you almost died. I think you might be hallucinating?"

        "What? No, Ollie was definitely there. We were on Hala when..." she clammed up suddenly. "Oh."

        "Now. I'm going to need you to calm down and explain the situation to us, because nobody knows exactly what's going on here. We'll try to help you if Fury and Coulson decide that you aren't a threat to Earth."

        The air felt like it was blown out of  _(Y/N)_ 's lungs. Her breath hitched and her eyes widened, slitted pupils blowing out into pointed ovals.

        "This... this is Terra?"

        "If Terra means Earth," the man muttered, "then yes. This is Terra. My name is Clint, and that's Natasha, and this is SHIELD. Welcome to New York."


	10. Chapter 10

        "So, who was this 'Ollie' guy? Sounds like you're pretty attached to him."

        " _Clint._ " Natasha elbowed her partner in the gut and rolled her eyes. "Let me do the talking and shut your mouth." She turned to face  _(Y/N)._ "He's an idiot who doesn't know how to stop talking when he's tired, which is pretty much all the time."

        "It's okay,"  _(Y/N)_ murmured. "I get it. Ollie was my best friend. Uh,  _is_ my best friend. He helped me adjust."

        "Adjust from what?"

        "Clint, I swear-"

        "Okay, okay, sorry." Clint sunk back into his seat like a small child, pouting. There was a moment of silence. "Adjust from what, though?"

        "Oh my-"

        "Nothing. Adjust from nothing. It's none of your business."

        If it was possible, his lip stuck out even more. "Jeez. Touchy, touchy."

        Natasha closed her eyes, leaned against the back of her chair, and flicked her pen up against his temple as if she were reprimanding a small dog.

        "Again, I'll do the talking. You sit there and look tough or something."

         _(Y/N)_ cracked a smile. Natasha and Clint had been trying to chip away at her outer layers to get information for the past three or four hours, ever since she had woken up- well, Natasha had been trying. Clint had been crossing his eyes and complaining about his lack of "coffee", whatever that was, while occasionally interjecting and asking something either annoying, inappropriate, or both.

        When Clint had promised to stay quiet, Natasha continued.

        "Alright,  _(Y/N),_ let's try this again. Do you have any malevolent intentions towards Earth?"

        "I don't have  _any_ intentions towards Terr- Earth. I just can't  _leave,_ " she said casually. "So, no. Nothing malevolent."

        "Are you a danger to our people?"

        "Only if I want to be, and I really don't. Other than chaining me to a bed and pointing a bunch of guns on me, you've been nothing but accommodating. Five stars."

        "When you say you would be dangerous if you wanted to be, what do you mean?"

        "Just what I said. If I wanted to be dangerous, if I wanted to hurt you, I could be. Simple as that. But, again, I have no intentions of hurting anyone on this planet."

        Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Other than the dozen guards you knocked out earlier today?"

        "Other than them,"  _(Y/N)_ confirmed. "And, to be fair, I had just been in a traumatic accident and was handcuffed to my cot."

        "Traumatic is a subjective term. But we can move past that now. On the subject of knocking people out, would you please explain how you did that? We're thinking it was some sort of enhancement."

        "Sure. If that's what you'd call it. But I wasn't enhanced. I've always had it, and it's normal for... for people like me."

        "People like you? Are there more of you?"

        She seemed to deflate in front of their eyes, catching her lip between a pair of pearly white teeth. Natasha and Clint had crossed a line.

        "Not anymore. I'm the only one left."

        A pregnant pause.

        "They called it 'matter manipulation'."

        "Huh?" Clint looked up, surprised.

        "Yeah,"  _(Y/N)_ said, "to put it simply. 'Matter manipulation'. If it's got mass, I can mess it up. I think. I mean, I've got limits. And sometimes I can barely do it at all. It takes a lot of energy out of me, so I've gotta be pretty careful."

        Why the hell was she rambling? These two were complete strangers who had actually tied her up less than half a day before, and here she was, spilling her guts as if they cared.  _Stupid,_ _(Y/N). So starved for attention that you'll take it anywhere you can get it._

Luckily, Natasha seemed to understand. 

        "Can you kill people with it?"

        "Like, smash them up against things until they die? Impale them with stuff? Or make them explode?"

        "The last one. Could you control their organs, maybe shut them down from long range?"

         _(Y/N)_ frowned. "I doubt it. I mean, I haven't ever tried."

        "That's a good thing," Clint muttered.

        "Yeah. But long range would take a lot of energy out of me."

        Even more silence. Natasha scratched down a few words on her paper, nodding approvingly.

        "You've been really easy. We appreciate that. One more question, okay? Then we'll leave you alone and you can try and get some rest."

        "Go ahead," she said tiredly.

        "Alright. Why did you crash on Earth? What caused you to end up here, and now, nonetheless? I need to know if this is going to cause a conflict between our citizens and whatever else is out there because if it is, we're going to have to take action. Earth isn't interested in an intergalactic war right now." 

        For the first time that night, Natasha was completely serious.

         _(Y/N)_ thought for a minute before answering as cryptically as she could.

        "I can't promise anything, but I do think that you're safe for the time being. I ended up on Earth because... I was running from my past. It almost caught up with me this time, but Ollie-" her voice broke. 

        "It's okay," Clint said comfortingly. "We understand a thing or two about running from pasts. Both of us have done some pretty bad stuff in our lives."

        "I don't think you could measure up to mine,"  _(Y/N)_ replied with a rueful smile.

        "I was an assassin from my preteens until less than a decade ago." Nat quirked her lip up. "Killed a lot of people, messed a lot of stuff up. There's a lot of red in my ledger."

        It was Clint's turn to speak. "I started off pretty badly. It wasn't the greatest environment for a kid, so me and my older brother ran away. We got involved in some covert operations, made some mistakes. SHIELD came to me when I was in my early twenties and offered me a job. I'm a Level Seven agent now, assassin. Field operations."

        "I'm Level Six, field agent. I take the dirty jobs."

        "I was an assassin, too,"  _(Y/N)_ said. "Well, technically a mercenary. I worked for anyone I was told to. Or anyone who paid me. Sort of funny how things like this happen, right?"

        "Funny's one word for it. Tell you what,  _(Y/N)_ ," Clint proposed. "I like you. And Nat likes you, too, so you've gotta be good. If Fury- he's in charge around here- gives you the clear, we'll get you into the number system sometime and start you up with SHIELD. You could partner with us! Wouldn't that be great?"

        Natasha groaned. "Only if she wants to deal with your constant rants about coffee and how you leave pizza boxes all over the apartment when I'm on jobs. And how you leave a mess wherever you go." She turned to  _(Y/N)_. "I swear, this man couldn't take care of himself if he was paid to do it. He never makes his bed or puts the toilet seat down, and he doesn't do the dishes. Ever."

        "I don't even  _use_ dishes!" He retorted indignantly.

        "That's right, you eat straight out of the pizza box or use the couch as your personal plate. The tomato stains on that poor thing... I'm  _never_ getting them out."        

         _(Y/N)_ laughed, her circles turning a distinctive yellow color.  _Happiness._

        "I'd love that, Clint. Being you and Nat's partner sounds great, but I doubt this 'Fury' would actually let me. I've committed some pretty serious crimes in my life."

        "See, that's the great thing about SHIELD. We can erase any records on the web or in our files of virtually anybody, so it would be like you got a fresh start. And it's not like you've got any records, anyway, so there isn't much of an issue."

        "Really?" She asked, eyes shining. "You'd do that?"

        Natasha and Clint stood up simultaneously, heading straight for the door after pushing their chairs aside. Just before they left, the former turned around.

        "Anything for a friend."

❖ ❖ ❖

        "What do you think about her, Romanoff?"

        Natasha shrugged, pursing her lips as she quickly skimmed over the file that had been put together. Her eyes flicked down to the paper, then up to Fury, then back to the paper again.

        "I don't know. She's hard to get a read on. Doesn't seem like a bad kid, though."

        "Kid?" Fury raised an eyebrow. "She can't be that much younger than you."

        "I'd give it about five years, give or take. She's young. Doesn't act it, though. I wouldn't put her over two years above drinking age, if that."

        "She given you a name?"

        "Taeven,  _(Y/N)._ That's just about all the personal information we've been able to get."

        Clint piped up from where he was sprawled out on a pile of couch cushions that he had strategically placed on the ground, taking a long sip from his steaming coffee cup so that his words were garbled.

        "That and that she doesn't think she was alone on the ship. Some guy called 'Ollie' was will her. Said he was her best friend and helped her adjust, but she wouldn't tell us what she had to adjust  _to._  Didn't give us a personal story. No background, either."

        "Ah, well, we never get many backgrounds from our recruits. Not until later, at least. I wouldn't have expected anything more."

        "You aren't worried about the lack of information?" Natasha asked.

        "Nah, not really. We can tackle that when the time comes. You asked her about whether she had any violent tendencies?"

        "Didn't have to. She was an assassin, the same as me and Clint. Made its way into the conversation."

        "And her attitude towards Earth? Our people?"

        "She seemed pretty neutral, maybe even on our side. Apparently,  _(Y/N)_ wasn't even trying to land here. Total coincidence." A pause. "She called us Terra. You know anything about that?"

        "What do you think, Romanoff? We've never had any serious interaction with extraterrestrials except for with Thor. I know virtually nothing about any of them."

        "We asked about her powers, too," Clint stated. "Those were pretty insane. She took out a whole battilion with her  _mind,_ isn't that awesome? Freakin'  _awesome._ "

        "That's one way to put it, Agent Barton. Another way is  _menacing_. That's a dangerous power to have. Did you get any details on it?"

        "All in the file, sir," Natasha said. "Under matter manipulation. Apparently, that's what it's called. The ability to control anything that has mass. We asked her about it earlier and she seemed more than happy to comply. Told us everything that didn't apply to her personal life."

        "Poor kid. Reminds me of Cooper and Lila, Laura's kids. Sad."

        "Welcome to our world. But it's good to hear that she's cooperating. Did she seem like she could be an asset to SHIELD?"

        "One hundred percent. When we told her that she could possibly work with us in the future, her face lit up. And those circles of hers- on her forehead? They turned yellow. The entire interview they had been hovering between this weird silvery color and red. I think it means something."

        "I'll be sure to mention it when I interrogate her. You think she'd talk?"

        "If it doesn't apply to anything that has to do with her family? Probably. I think you'll like her, Fury. She's good."

        Nick stood from his position at the head of the table, taking the manilla folder with him and giving a small nod in both Natasha and Clint's directions. 

        "I hope so."

        He made his way to the interrogation room- however makeshift it was, seeing how it had been put together in the infirmary at the drop of a hat. The medical personnel was milling about outside the closed doorway, filing reports and looking over images. Fury couldn't help but notice how the security had been upped so much that there were more armed guards in the hallway than doctors and nurses, and almost everybody was carrying some sort of firearm.

        "Director Fury!" One of the nurses exclaimed, pushing her messy hair out of her face to reveal a black eye. "Thank you for coming."

        "No problem, agent. I'm going to go ahead and start the interrogation now. Is she awake?"

        "Extremely. But she's behaved for the last half hour or so, just drifted in and out of sleep for a while."

        "Any injuries to be aware of?"

        "Honestly? Not really, which is surprising. From what we know, the impact should've been devastating. I'm surprised she survived. No serious breaks or fractures, no internal bleeding, and no bruised organs. Just a few broken capillaries around the cheeks, eyes, and major joints, which is to be expected. And a minor concussion. We've been trying to keep her awake to avoid any complications, but we don't know enough about how her body works to do anything effective."

        "Is there any way to work around that?"

        The nurse shrugged. "Not really, sir. We can work off of x-rays to understand her bone structure, but that's the most we can do without performing an autopsy or vivisection, and that would be incredibly cruel."

        "Don't do that. Just put her on any antibiotics you think would work and keep her stable. Am I good to go ahead and talk to her?"

        "Feel free to go on in. It should be safe. If anything seems threatening, we'll send in the guards to deal with it."

        "Thanks, but that won't be necessary. Keep a lookout, will you?"

        "Of course, Director."

        Fury nodded, opened the door to the interrogation room, and stepped inside without another word.

         _(Y/N)_ was sitting up in the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap and her hair pulled back messily into a bun. When he first walked up and took his seat, her eyes were closed, but after he had settled in and looked back up, she was very much alert.

        "Am I correct to assume that you're Fury?" She asked, her snakelike pupils dilating slightly and swallowing up her  _(e/c)_ irises. "Natasha and Clint said you'd be able to help me."

        "I'd like to. But first I need to ask you a few more questions, just to get a general understanding of how this is going to work.  Are you willing to cooperate with me?"

        "It depends on what you ask." An offhand shrug. "I have limits, and there are questions I won't answer. But I'll try."

        "That's all I ask of you. Are you ready to start?"

        "Fire away."

        "Great. Now, Agents Romanoff and Barton already told me about your powers. And I've gotten the run-down on your injuries, so we don't need to rehash that. Those circles, though, I need to know about them. What can you tell me about them?"

         _(Y/N)_ smiled wanly. "Not much. They display my emotions through colors. There's one color for each feeling. I don't know everything about them, because I was supposed to learn about them from my parents, but... well, they never got a chance."        

        "Do they affect your powers at all?"

        "I don't think so, no. They're separate."

        Fury made a few notes on his paper, then looked back up.

        "Do you have any particular skill sets? Anything that could be useful for SHIELD?"

        "You could say that."

        "You're an assassin?"

        "Former mercenary. I can kill with anything you give me, gather information, make murder seem like an accident, and run operations whenever needed. And if you need me to, I can do missions and recovery stuff. I have a wide range of gifts."

        "That's probably a good thing for us. SHIELD could use some people like you."

         _(Y/N)_ pursed her lips and averted her eyes, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of her face. "Would I have a choice?"

        "Excuse me?" Fury asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

        "Would I have a choice?" She repeated. "Do I get to make my own decisions or do I have to do whatever you say? Because that's a dealbreaker for me."

        "Of course you would. On some missions, you'd have to follow orders, but you wouldn't  _belong_ to us. Ask Barton and Romanoff, and they'll tell you that more often than not they choose what they do and when they do it. If you end up on the lower levels you'd listen to a handler, but I honestly doubt that you'd get stuck down there. You seem like a smart, qualified young woman, and I think this is an opportunity we should all take."

        "Natasha said she was Level Six. And Clint's Level Seven?"

        "Exactly. I'm Alpha Level and a Ten, because of my position in SHIELD."

        "You're the Director."

        "Yes."

        "Where would I start?"

        "If you're deemed trustworthy, I'd put you in around Level Seven or Level Eight. You could easily move up the ranks in a short amount of time."

        A look of surprise overtook  _(Y/N)_ 's face. Fury noted that her circles shifted from silver to teal, and he made another observation in his notebook.

        "You'd put me in that high? Director Fury, that's insane."

        "Do me a favor and drop the 'Director'. You can call me Nick."

        "Okay... Nick. But  _why?_ "

        "Because I feel like I can trust you, Taeven. I've got this vibe from you and I think you'd be an asset to my organization. Maybe it's not a good idea to trust freely in this world, but I've gotta trust  _somebody._ And I want that person to be you. So what do you say? Are you in?"

         _(Y/N)_ hesitated for a minute, eyeing the hand that had been extended in her direction. Slowly, carefully, she unclasped her own and placed one against Nick's palm. His warm fingers wrapped around hers and they shook, smiles spreading over both of their faces.

        "Welcome to the family, Agent Taeven. I look forward to working with you in the future."


	11. Chapter 11

        "Miss Taeven? My name is Agent Coulson, and I'm here to discuss your living situation with you. Would it be alright if I came in and sat down?"

         _(Y/N)_ looked up from her book in surprise. A man with neatly combed hair and a pair of shining sunglasses stood in the doorway of her 'room', looking around as if he were uncomfortable. In his hand, he held yet another clipboard. She had been seeing a lot of those lately, to her chagrin.

        "Sure," she said, shrugging slightly and gesturing to the empty chair beside her bed. "Make yourself at home, I guess."

        He did so, plopping down in the chair and draping one knee over the other.  _(Y/N)_ looked him over; he wasn't a very assuming man. Pleated black slacks with neat gray pinstripes running up the sides, a crisp dress shirt, a jacket with the SHIELD logo on it, and a smoothly-knotted tie led to the assumption that he was a higher-up agent with a bit of pull in some areas.

        Coulson seemed to notice her assessment of his physique and jokingly held both hands out by his sides, palms up.

        "You like what you see?"

        "I'm sorry?"  _(Y/N)_ asked, confused.

        He coughed awkwardly, hiding what looked like a smile behind his raised hand. A red flush crept over his cheeks.

        "Sorry. I should've known you wouldn't understand that."

        "You're right, I don't. Is that some sort of Earth humor?"

        "You could say that. Now, about your living conditions?"

        "Oh. Go ahead, I guess."

        "Great. So, you have four options right now, which is sort of more than we were expecting. It might be a bit difficult to get you settled because of your background-"

        "Or lack of it?"  _(Y/N)_ asked slyly.

        "Or lack of it," Coulson confirmed. "You don't have any friends here right now, and you obviously don't have any family, so we don't have anybody of relation to put you with. We can house you here, with SHIELD, which might help a bit with keeping you close but probably won't help at all with adjusting. We're not all great with new people."

        "Clearly. You tied me to a bed."

        He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry about that, miss."

        "Don't worry about it, I'm kidding. But I don't think that's the best option."

        "No. Another is that we have this friend who has plenty of room in this tower of his, but he drinks a ton and isn't exactly good with new people, either. And he's a hostile rich guy."

        She pursed her lips. "Yeah, no."

        "Good. We could get you an apartment of your own and pay rent, but the issue of security and nosy neighbors comes up with that option."

        "I don't like people."

        "That's an issue. Let's not go with that. What's the last option?"

        Coulson flipped a page on his clipboard, scanning the paper with narrowed eyes before looking back up.

        "You met Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff earlier, right? Those two work closely together both as agents and as friends, so they're together all the time. They have a shared apartment down in Queens, in New York City. SHIELD pays for it and all their monthly expenses and in return, we're free to call them in whenever. All they have to do is show up. Barton wasn't there earlier- he was at his family's house- but he'll be moving back in soon. They've told us to extend the offer to you."

        "O-offer?"  _(Y/N)_ stuttered. 

        "They want you to be their third roommate. There's already an extra bedroom, and everything's furnished nicely. You'd be free to decorate as you wanted. I have to warn you, though, that you have to share a bathroom. Natasha's alright, but Clint's a total slob. She calls in complaints to complain about soggy towels in the sink and water on the floor regularly, just to annoy us. If you decide to live with them, you'll have to deal with that. Just a precaution."

        At her lack of a response, Coulson arched an eyebrow.

        "Is there a problem? I'm sure we can figure something else out-"

        "No, no!" She blurted. "No, this all sounds amazing. I just... I haven't done anything to deserve this sort of treatment, and it's sort of hard for me to process right now. I mean, you don't  _owe_ me anything."

        "In this world, you don't always have to owe people something. It's not a problem that you haven't  _done_ anything yet, because we all know you'll  _do_ something eventually that'll help us all. You're going to be a great help to SHIELD,  _(Y/N)._ We trust you and want to help you."

        "Is that the only reason?"  _(Y/N)_ asked.

        "Well..." He thought for a minute, stroking his chin in mock concentration. "Clint and Natasha like you, and they scare us- she scares us. He's a coffee-addicted teddy bear with a bow and arrows. But if they like you, you've gotta be something special. Those two don't just give out trust. You've earned it."

        "And you don't think they'll mind my imposing on them?"

        "Are you kidding? They'll love you! Clint's going to watch  _so_ many Disney movies with you, believe you me. And Natasha'll be happy to have another girl around."

        "Disney?"

        Coulson waved a hand dismissively. "They'll explain it to you later. Can I take this as your official agreement? Are you in?"

         _(Y/N)_  bit her lip, fiddling with a strand of hair. It was certainly a great opportunity- there was no viable way for her to get off of Earth, at least for the time being, and it wasn't like she had any better way to spend her time. These people seemed like good ones. and that type was hard to come by in the universe that she lived in.

        "Sure. I'm in."

        "Great. Now, before you pack up your stuff and get you down to Queens, how would you feel about a shower?

❖ ❖ ❖

        The answer was a definite yes. It took about an hour of standing under scalding hot water, feeling the pressure pounding against her back until  _(Y/N)_ felt even  _slightly_ clean again, but when she was clean,  _she was clean._ It was such a beautiful feeling, one that she hadn't exactly had the luxury of for a long while.

        She stood under the warm water, hands combing through her hair as she tried to get every ounce of shampoo and dirt out. As she turned to grab a bar of soap, a twinge of pain stabbed through her side. She winced and reached down to brush a hand over the smooth metal.

        Something was different.

        No longer was it made of bright silver and flexible material. The patch had been replaced with a darker alloy, bronze accent streaks running through what seemed to have become both harder and stronger.

         _(Y/N)_ smiled.

        Coulson had left a set of clean clothes on the bathroom counter, along with a few knickknacks that were apparently used for feminine purposes. The brush and hair elastics were easy enough to identify, even if they looked a bit different from the things she had used on Hala and the Sanctuary, and a few of the other odds and ends could be understood, but everything else? Completely foreign.  _(Y/N)_ left the pallet of powder and tube of black goop right where she had found it.

        The clothing was simple but comfortable- a pair of soft, gray leggings, a long-sleeved t-shirt that matched the purple of Clint's, undergarments, a pair of sneakers, and a black hoodie- and  _(Y/N)_ happily got dressed, relishing in the feeling of security that came along with it. She tugged the shoes on and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet a few times, testing their hold as she ran the brush through her tangled locks. It took a while to get her hair completely de-snared and dried, and she almost had a complete meltdown several times- physical appearance hadn't been an important part of her daily routine- but it was worth it. 

         _(Y/N)_ felt like a completely new person.

        And apparently, considering her new 'roommates' expressions, she looked like one too.

        Clint was fairly obvious. His jaw's dropped and his eyes widened to the size of silver dollars, but it was slightly artificial. He was trying to build up confidence, both his own and hers.

        She knew better than to fall for that sort of thing.

        Natasha's was much more subtle. The slight arch of her eyebrows and a peek of her tongue, slipping out to lick her lips, showed a bit of interest and maybe-  _maybe-_ some surprise.

        That was worth it.

        Cue a stupid comment from Clint.

        " _Da-yum,_ girl, you clean up  _nice!"_

         _(Y/N)_ looked him up and down as regally as she could, making it obvious that she wasn't interested in his mindless flirting and that he had best leave well enough alone.

        "If you're not careful, I'll have to clean  _you_ off of the floor."

        Natasha nodded approvingly. "She's good. She's very, very good."

        "Thank you."

        Clint wasn't fazed. He just grinned like an alligator and patted  _(Y/N)_ gently on the shoulder, pointedly ignoring it when she flinched.

        "So, I take it you took our offer?"

        "Yes," she confirmed. "But if it's too much, or if I'm imposing on anything, you don't have to let me stay. I could figure something else out easily enough. SHIELD says-"

        "Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna stop you right there," Clint interrupted. "It doesn't matter what  _SHIELD_ says, or what  _Fury_ says, alright? Nat and I want you to come stay with us. By invitation. We want you on our team!"

         _(Y/N)_ looked at him like he had spontaneously grown two heads. "You... have a  _team?"_  She asked skeptically.

        Natasha shook her head. "No, not officially. Clint's an idiot and he-"

        "Team Assassin!" He shouted enthusiastically. "We're team assassin! All three of us! So we obviously have to live in one apartment, I mean,  _come on._ Common sense."

        His partner just sighed and turned her attention to  _(Y/N)_ , making a face in Clint's direction.

        "So. You don't really have any  _belongings,_ because of the whole crash and everything, but we were able to salvage one thing from the wreckage. Well, SHIELD was. We're assuming it's yours, judging from the impressive amount of weapons shoved inside this thing."

        As she spoke, she reached behind her back and pulled out a familiar- although much worse for the wear- knapsack.  _(Y/N)_ 's eyes widened in surprise. She took the bag, inspecting the straps and bottom before carefully unzipping it and mentally cataloging the contents. Starkiller sat between a folded shirt and a rag in its collapsed form. The little blue knife Thanos had given her was there as well.

        That was the one thing she could've afforded to lose, but she tucked it back into its spot after a brief inspection.

        "Is everything still there? We told them to put it all back after they'd gone through it, but SHIELD is annoying in the respect that it doesn't always cooperate with us."

        "Everything's there."  _(Y/N)_ looked back up. "I meant to ask you... what did they do to my side?"

        To explain, she lifted the hem of her shirt and exposed the patch. Natasha mouthed an expletive and rolled her eyes.

        "Yeah, they talked about doing that. There was a concern that you had some sort of a bomb or a tracker or something in there, like an extraterrestrial terrorist or something. We told them not to bother, but..."

        "SHIELD doesn't cooperate," Clint parroted. "Hey, it looks super badass, though. I mean, look at it!"

        "I liked how it looked before. But yeah, it's pretty cool, I guess."

        "Mmm." Natasha nudged his shoulder. "Now, if we could get going? The drive back to our apartment's about two and a half hours, so we need to leave before it's too late. I don't like driving in the dark."

        "I'll drive!"

        "No," Natasha and  _(Y/N)_ said in unison, twin looks of annoyance on their faces. Clint stuck his lower lip out jokingly and swept one arm in the direction of the parking lot.

        "Well, ladies, our carriage awaits."

❖ ❖ ❖

        The 'carriage' was a borrowed armored vehicle that had obviously been in several battles too many. The back windshield had been replaced partially, probably to get rid of a few bullet holes, and the metal cage on the bumper was scratched and dented.  _(Y/N)_ hopped into the back seat with her backpack in tow, scooting all the way to the left side and carefully buckling in.

        Natasha and Clint took the front two seats. He stared at _(Y/N)_ in the rearview mirror, his eyebrows gaining a life of their own.

        "What?" She snapped, glaring back at him.

        "Nothing, nothing! I just... didn't know you'd be able to figure out how to work a car."

         _(Y/N)_ shrugged. "It's like a ship, just smaller and earthbound. And lacking wings. And much less high-tech. Earth's pretty great from what I've seen, but some of your technology is a bit behind the bar."

        "Ouch."

        "Nah, she's right. Some of that crap in her backpack? It's  _seriously_ insane," Natasha said. She started the car up and pressed a foot down on the gas pedal, sending them into a neat reverse before exiting the parking lot and merging onto a larger road. "I can see how people like you've avoided detection for so long."

        "We didn't avoid detection."  _(Y/N)_ pulled a knife out of her bag and started to calmly flip it up and down in her hand, catching the blade neatly between her thumb and pointer finger without so much as a scratch every time. "You weren't looking hard enough. Or far enough. We've known Terrans- Earth people- exist for a very, very long time now."

        "About that... who's 'we'? I mean, where are  _you_ from?" Clint asked, taking a long sip of a brown liquid that she assumed was 'coffee'. "You've gotta be from somewhere, too, right?"

        A pause.

        "I'm from Xharei. It doesn't exist anymore. Hasn't since I was six, fifteen years ago. I've been... moving around quite a bit since then."

        Clint fell silent.

         _(Y/N)_ twisted around to stare out the window, taking in the scenery and processing it as quickly as she could. It looked quite a bit like Xharei, actually, with greenery creeping over barriers and up the sides of trees. Of course, it lacked some of her home planet's magic, but it was close enough. 

        Close enough.

        The ride passed quickly and quietly, with little more than a whisper passed between the two agents in the front seat.  _(Y/N)_ acted like she couldn't hear them- even though she knew that they knew that she could- and instead closed her eyes, drifting away slowly into the peaceful recesses of her mind.

        Natasha watched her carefully, keeping her eyes trained on the rearview mirror with the intense stare of a hawk. The girl couldn't have been more than four or five years younger than her, but somehow, she had a hard time thinking of her as a child.

         _(Y/N)_ didn't really seem to be a child at all, actually. She carried herself with the grace and poise of a queen, just like Natasha.

        There were a surprising amount of similarities between the two, now that she thought about it. They were both secretive about their pasts and refused to speak about them, they were both assassins, and from what Natasha had gathered, they had both come from traumatic situations.

        Sure, Clint checked all the boxes too, but she found herself wanting to have this one thing to herself. This was  _her_ friend, not his. Childish? Yes. Worth it? Also yes.

        Speak of the devil.

        "Did Fury give you her files?"

        "Yeah. Lots of redactions, though. More black than words. Can't really go a sentence without losing a word or two. You'll have to piece it together."

        "From what I've seen, there's not much to piece together, anyways."

        "That's true. There's barely any information in there; it's a bit of a boring read, to be honest."

        "Reading, in general, is boring."

        "That's because you're an uneducated cretin, buddy. Reading is wonderful."

        "It's a waste of time."

        "You're a waste of space."

        "Touche."

        Clint took another swig of his coffee, gulping it down as fast as he could and sighing happily when the warmth hit his core. Natasha took the cup from his hand and sipped a bit of it, wrinkling her nose distastefully at the bitter undertones.

        "What, you didn't use milk?"

        "I like my coffee as black as my soul."

        "So why didn't you use milk?"

        An exasperated sigh.

        "Natasha, darlin', milk is essentially the only way to ruin coffee. You  _ruin_ the purity."

        "It tastes better."

        "It tastes  _impure._ "

        "Impure tastes pretty damn good, then."

        Another sigh.

        "Tea drinkers."

        "You're going to die of caffeine poisoning if you don't control how much you take in, you know that? It only takes ten grams to kill somebody."

        "My body can take more than ten grams of caffeine at this point. Besides, you drink tea. Tea has caffeine."

        "I don't have a monopoly on the tea market, though. I don't drink nearly as much as you do."

        " _Nobody_ drinks as much as I do."

        "I think that's a good thing. If you didn't expend as much energy as you do, I doubt you'd ever sleep."

        "I don't sleep much, anyway." Clint craned his neck to peer into the back seat, where  _(Y/N)_ had dozed off with her knapsack clutched to her chest. Her head hung down so that he couldn't see her face, but if he judged from the way her breathing had steadied and slowed, she was very much asleep. "Doesn't look like our new friend is having an issue with that."

        Natasha nodded. "She must be tired. These last two days have probably taken a toll on her. This is a pretty big change for anyone to undergo, moving from whatever life she had before to the one she's living now."

        "Do you think asking her to stay with us was a mistake?"

        "I don't think either of us have ever made a better decision, Clint.  _(Y/N)_ is... she's  _so_ much like the both of us, okay? And I feel like we've all done some pretty bad things, so helping her..."

        Clint's eyes softened as he looked at his partner's helpless expression. He smiled gently, cocking his head to one side. "You think we could balance out some of the crimes? Get rid of the red?"

        "Not all of it. It might just be a start, but I want to do it. I want to help."

        "Then we'll help. We'll do everything we can to get her on her feet, Natasha, okay? And I'll be with you every step of the way."


	12. Chapter 12

        "So this is it. Welcome to _la casa de Nat and Clint_."

        "Let's not call it that."

         _(Y/N)_ ignored Natasha and Clint's constant bickering in the front seat, shaking herself out of a sleep-induced stupor and peering out of the window through scrunched-up eyes.

         _'La casa de Nat and Clint'_ was a large brownstone building with neatly cleaned windows and crisp white trimmings. A row of bushy green trees lined the sidewalk, which was crowded with pedestrians and cyclists. 

        "I don't know if this is a good idea," she muttered, slouching down slightly in her seat. At her statement, both her driver and her newest annoyance fell silent.

        "What do you mean?" Natasha asked, twisting around in her seat. "I thought you wanted to move in with us."

        "I do, I do. It's just... I don't blend in with this crowd. And people haven't ever seen anybody like me."  _(Y/N)_ gestured towards the circles on her forehead and her slitted eyes, rolling them for emphasis. "I'm different and if you guys are anything like the people I used to live with, you don't accept anyone different."

        "You've got a pair of well-known SHIELD agents on your arm, sweetheart," Clint drawled. "Nobody's going to bother you when we're around."

        "But if you're not comfortable, we can figure something else out. You shouldn't ever feel pressured to do something you don't want to do here, okay? We want you to feel safe with us."

        A warm feeling flooded through her body, spreading from her sternum to her core like an infection. _(Y/N)_ smiled unsurely, first at Natasha and then at Clint.

        "Thank you. This is... this is more than I ever expected, really. I appreciate everything you're doing for me."

        "No problem! Again, we like you. You're fun."

        "And we're good human beings. And you're probably right about people not being the most welcoming. We can sneak you into the apartment, alright? Clint's got a hat you can borrow and it's chilly enough outside to make it look perfectly normal."

        "And my eyes? I look like a snake."

        "Sunglasses. That'll look normal, too."

        "Wow. You really were prepared for this, weren't you?"

        "No, not really. Clint just likes to pretend to be cool. It's a bad habit of his."

        "My phases are  _marvelous,_ thank you very much." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled a pair of sunglasses and a knit hat out, tossing them into  _(Y/N)_ 's lap. She caught them neatly, straightening the fabric out and smoothing the hat down over her hair- effectively hiding her circles.

        One pair of sunglasses later and Clint was opening the door, helping  _(Y/N)_ out of the car (she almost bit his hand off), and leading her across the street to the sidewalk. Natasha followed close behind, keeping a close watch on both sides of the road with her hand in her pocket.

        "You look nice in Clint's sunglasses,  _(Y/N),"_  She said as soon as she caught up with the duo. "Better than him. Great, actually."

        "Oh. Uh, thanks."

        No,  _(Y/N)_ wasn't blushing.

        The three assassins wove through the crowd, making an easy path to the doorway of the brownstone before stepping inside. Natasha held  _(Y/N)_ close, one arm firmly wrapped around her waist (she wouldn't want for anybody to get the wrong idea, after all) and led her up three sets of stairs, Clint in tow.

        "We're number eight, floor three, 408 on Fifteenth street. Just so you know. Clint and I've both got a key, and you'll be sent one in the package that gives you your SHIELD identification card and all of that important paperwork stuff. You've got access to all the amenities, and we'll go over what those are once you're inside, alright?"

        "That sounds great," _(Y/N)_ breathed. She stopped in front of the door that was marked with an eight in a neat font, staring at the door handle like it was going to burn her if she touched it.

        "Ready?" Natasha asked gently, stroking one hand gently up and down  _(Y/N)_ 's arm. The latter found that she didn't like physical contact and often flinched away from it, but when it was  _Natasha_ giving her the contact... well, that was a completely different story. She practically leaned into the older woman's touch, eyes closing blissfully.

        It took two repeats of the question to snap her out of her daze. Clint and Natasha both pretended like she hadn't zoned out at all, and when she murmured an affirmative, they were quick to move.

        He inserted the key in the lock and twisted it in one swift motion, shoving the door open with his shoulder before stepping aside and motioning for the girls to go inside. Natasha was the first to walk in- she had once been in the same situation and understood everything  _(Y/N)_ was going through, from craving physical contact at the same time as shirking it to assessing every new place and situation she entered.

         _(Y/N)_ filed into the room right away and took off the sunglasses. She placed them in Clint's hand, along with the hat, and thanked him quietly before taking in her surroundings.

        In a way, the apartment couldn't have been more  _casa de Nat and Clint._  It was easy to figure out what belonged to who- the neat stack of books on the table were Natasha's and the coffeemaker (at least, that's what she assumed it was, considering the large stack of porcelain cups placed beside it) was Clint's- especially to a trained eye. The small kitchen was tidy and organized, with clean counters and an empty sink, and the living room was more of the same. Gray couch cushions mixed with light blue pillows and a white throw made for a very homey atmosphere.

        There was only one thing that threw  _(Y/N)_ off.

        "There's a tree in your house."

        And indeed, there was. A large potted tree sat in the corner of the room, large leaves spreading across the ceiling until they were a few feet away from the fan. A trio of white flowers sat at the base, clustered together like sheep.

        "Yeah, that's an avocado," Natasha muttered. There was an edge of frustration, maybe even resentment, in her voice. "Clint wanted it. He didn't realize it would get as big as it did."

        "It's really cool!" Clint protested. She continued as if he hadn't spoken.

        "So it grew, and it grew, and by the time we had finally decided to move it out of the apartment, it was too big to fit through the door. We just cut it whenever it gets too close to the fan or the walls. The landlord had a hell of a day on his last inspection."

        "I named it Arnie."

        "He named it Arnie."

         _(Y/N)_ smiled, slipping around the couch to stand under the branches of the tree. She reached up and placed a hand on the underside of one of its leaves, stroking her fingers over the veins and down to the main stem.

        "Does it do anything, or is it just there to look pretty?"

        Clint grinned triumphantly and hurtled over the couch to stand beside her. "You see those flowers? If they're pollinized-"

        "Pollinated," Natasha corrected.

        "Pollinated. Yes, that. If they're pollinated, the petals will drop and they'll grow into avocados! Those taste really, really good."

        "That's... that's pretty cool," _(Y/N)_ said quietly. "It's very attractive, too."

        "If you like that sort of thing, we could get you some plants for your room. You could put them all over the place, to make it your own. It wouldn't take us very long to get them."

        She turned to face Natasha, her smile growing ever-so-slightly. That warm feeling just kept growing and growing, and she knew exactly why.

        "That would be amazing."

        Clint clapped his hands happily, vaulting back over the couch. "Yes, very amazing. Now, can we show her the room? Please please  _please?_ "

        "Sorry about him," Natasha said sarcastically. "He's like an excited puppy."

        "I don't mind,"  _(Y/N)_ replied. "And I'd like to see my room if that's not too much trouble."

        "Of course not. Follow me."

        She waved a hand down a small hallway, continuing to speak as she moved. Clint waited for  _(Y/N)_ to go before he did, patting her on the shoulder.

        "My room's the first one on the right, and Clint's is the first on the left. That's the bathroom- we've only got one, so make sure you always go before Clint, because he takes forever and leaves a mess- and that's an extra closet. We keep our weapons in there. I've got mine in the cardboard box that says 'don't touch'. Clint's bow is on the ground because he's a slob. You can put yours in a box or keep them in your room, we don't really care. And this," Natasha said, stopping in front of a closed door, "is your room."

         _(Y/N)_ cautiously stepped forward and placed a hand on the knob, opening it slowly and peering inside as if she were afraid that something was going to jump out and attack her.

        The backpack hit the ground with a thud, and her jaw was well on the way to following it.

        It was, essentially, perfect. The walls were painted a nondescript beige that matched with the white trim and polished floorboards. Two windows, each on its own wall, gave views of the main street and the back alley respectively and let in sunlight from the outside. A bed was pushed into one corner and there was a desk in the other, but other than that, it was virtually unoccupied. The closed closet door had a wall of its own as well, and when _(Y/N)_ opened it, she was greeted with a pristine niche that was devoid of anything but the hanger rack.

        "So what do you think?" Natasha asked quietly, the smile evident in her voice. "We can fix it up however you want, add new stuff, take stuff away, move the furniture around. Whatever you want. This is yours now, and you make the rules."

        "I think... oh my  _stars,_ Natasha, this is  _amazing!"_ She gushed in response. "It's  _gorgeous!"_

        "I'm glad you feel that way. Clint and I figured that a minimalist approach was in order."

        "When did you find the time to put this together? We only decided on this yesterday!"

        "Yeah, well, we move fast." Clint shrugged happily. "Nat and I called in a few favors with some people and had them do a bit of clean-up. This room's never been used, so it was just about as dusty as all get-out. Plus, there was no furniture, and we didn't want you sleeping on the couch."

        "I wouldn't have minded if you hadn't been able to do this all, you know. I've slept in worse places before."

        "Don't worry about it! Tell you what, we'll let you settle in a bit and then we can update the roommate contract, okay? There's some stuff you've gotta know before you get too invested."

         _(Y/N)_ smiled and nodded, picking up her backpack from its spot on the floor and unzipping it to catalog her belongings and put them away. Clothes went in the dresser, random knickknacks from all across the galaxies that had miraculously survived the last two and a half years of traveling, a surprisingly large amount of weapons, and all sorts of paraphernalia. She reached into the front pocket, expecting to find nothing, and pulled out...

         _Oh._

_**Awesome Mix Vol. 3**_

The label on the tape was worn away so that the only letters  _(Y/N)_ could make out were  ** _Aw-om-M-Vo_** and half of the three, but the sight of Peter's messy handwriting still stung her eyes. She flipped the little rectangle over, brushing her fingers over the smooth lines and the two circles.

        Huh. After all that time, it was still there.

❖ ❖ ❖

        Natasha was cooking in the kitchen when  _(Y/N)_ made her reappearance. One hand gripped the handle of her nonstick pan and the other held a spatula, which she was using to push meat back and forth over the heat of a stainless-steel stove. 

        The redhead turned around when she heard her come in, a smile already breaking over her face.

        "Go ahead and sit down," she said, gesturing to the island. "We're having Mexican tonight. Clint went grocery shopping because he drank milk straight out of the carton this morning and that man's probably a carrier for some sort of disease or something."

         _(Y/N)_ walked over to the island and stood next to a chair, but she didn't sit down. Instead, she placed the cassette tape down on the granite with a quiet  _clink_ and looked back up to eye Natasha.

        "I was wondering if there was any way you could play this."

        Natasha raised an eyebrow, twisting around so she could see it without abandoning her 'Mexican' food (whatever that was. Geez,  _(Y/N)_ was going to have to do some serious research to figure all of this stuff out).  _(Y/N)_  picked it up to make it easier for her to see.

        "Where did you get  _that?"_  

        "A friend of mine gave it to me, out there. He loved music so when I had to leave, he wanted me to have something to remember him by. It's been a few months and I sort of forgot about it."

        "Tell you what." Natasha smoothly transferred the meat from the pan to three plates and began seasoning it. "That's some pretty old technology. We don't use cassette tapes anymore, really, but I'm pretty sure I could figure out how to get you a walkman or something to play it on if you want it that badly. Or I could take it to a friend of mine and have him figure out what songs are on it and you could just listen to them online, which would be a lot easier."

         _(Y/N)_ pursed her lips, trying to hide a smile. 

        "You have no idea what anything I just said means, do you?"

        "Not a clue."

        "I'm going to have to explain a lot to you, aren't I?"

        "Yes."

        "Brilliant." She sighed. "Okay. The internet is pretty much a giant web of information that you can access from phones, computers, iPads, iPods, sometimes television... you don't know what any of that is, either."

        "No."

        "We're going to be dedicating all of tomorrow to getting you settled in, but after that, I'm teaching you everything there is to know about Earth. Jeez,  _(Y/N)_ , this is going to take a really long time."

         _(Y/N)_ nodded understandingly and slipped around the counter to stand beside Natasha, watching carefully as she covered the meat with little shreds of orange and green. A delicious smell wafted up into the air, full of spices and something that was purely mouth-watering.

        "We'll figure everything out lat-" Natasha turned and found herself nose-to-nose with  _(Y/N)_ , their faces only inches apart. Her breath hitched, catching in her throat with a high-pitched squeak that she had never expected to hear coming from her own mouth. Clint, maybe, but not  _her._

         _(Y/N)_ 's reaction was similar- wide eyes and a sudden lack of airflow from her mouth to her lungs. She stared back into a pair of sparkling green eyes, her pupils dilating slightly, and began to lean in...

        " _CAN SOMEONE HELP ME WITH THE GROCERIES?!"_

The two women jerked away from each other, both flushing an embarrassingly obvious shade of red, as Clint burst through the front door with his arms full of plastic bags. He grinned impishly; it was like he had known he was interrupting something (and he probably had).

        "He-llo, and what are my two lov-er-ly ladies doing tonight? I come bearing groceries."

        "Oh my god, Clint," Natasha groaned. She strode across the room to take some of the bags out of his hands, but before she could reach him,  _(Y/N)_ flicked her fingers nonchalantly in their direction.

        One by one, plastic bags unloaded themselves from Clint's grasp and floated across the room to rest on the counters. Natasha and Clint watched with wide eyes and half-open mouths as  _(Y/N)_ opened the cabinets with another wave of her hand and, after a minute of contemplation regarding location, began to unload each bag and put its contents in their correct places.

        "There we go," she said, brushing her hands together to rid them of imaginary dust. "All clean. I don't know if you guys do things differently here, but I think I did that right."

        Natasha nodded wordlessly.

        "That was  _awesome,_ man! Can you do that with other stuff, too? Like, could you clean up really fast?"

        "Clint. Sit down at the table and eat your food. We're not misusing  _(Y/N)'_ s powers."

        "You've gotta admit that it would be pretty cool, though!"

        "Sit. Your plate is on the counter. Get your own water."

        Clint pouted, but he did as Natasha said and sat without further complaint. She mouthed a 'thanks' in  _(Y/N)_ 's direction and gestured to the chair beside hers, which  _(Y/N)_ gladly sat down in after filling her own glass.

        "Thanks, Nat. It's good," he said after taking a bite and swallowing.

        "Of course it is, I made it. What do you think,  _(Y/N)_?"

         _(Y/N)_  took a forkful of the meat and cautiously bit into it, gulping it down and smiling at the sudden explosion of rich flavors.

        "It's really good. What did you call it? Mexican?"

        "That's right. I'm glad you like it."

        "Why Mexican?" She asked, confused. 

        "It's from a region south of where we are, in the United States of America."

        "You said we were in Queens."

        Clint snorted, eliciting a glare from Natasha that sobered him right up. "Queens is a borough in New York City, which is a city in New York, which is a state in the United States of America, which is a country in North America, which is a country in the Western Hemisphere, which is-"

        "Shut up. You're confusing enough when you're not trying to make sense, Clint, don't be obnoxious.  _(Y/N)_ , our world is divided up into different regions and levels. You've got cities, counties, states, countries, continents, and so on. The country we're in is called the U.S.A. and it's to the north of Mexico, which is where this type of food originated. Do you understand?"

         _(Y/N)_ nodded. "We had stuff like that in some of the planets I visited. It's a lot easier to understand than the whole 'internet' concept."

        At that, Clint started to babble incessantly about how much she had been missing out on the internet her whole life and how he had so much to teach her. Natasha rolled her eyes, but it was clear to see that she was trying to hide an endearing smile.

        And there, in that small apartment in Queens, New York,  _(Y/N)_ realized that she had found another family.


	13. Chapter 13

        There's a gym in one of the shadiest areas of Brooklyn, New York. It's been there for years and years, and you can tell- the place is an absolute mess. Graffiti, dust all over the mats and punching bags, and lights that are well on the way to burned out. For that reason exactly it doesn't attract much of a crowd. Actually, it doesn't attract a crowd at all. If you go there after eight or nine in the morning, you'll find just what everyone else has found: an empty gym without a trace of occupation.

        That's because you're eight years too late. If you had come any earlier, you would've found quite the opposite.

        Steve Rogers started going several days after he was defrosted and had adjusted to his new surroundings. He found it when he was walking around his old neighborhood, drowning in memories of a life that had all but disappeared. The owner had been about to close it down for good and was just covering the windows when he had burst through the front door, offering to pay if he was allowed to use it between three and eight every morning.

        SHIELD added another bill to their list that day, and Steve found a new way to get his energy out.

        He was alone at the gym for two years. Two years without any interruptions or people encroaching on what he had come to think of as his personal territory. Of blissful silence and complete focus, of being alone with his emotions, of crying on his own as he mourned what he had lost.

        She showed up about halfway into 2011. Steve didn't notice her at first; he was so trapped in his own thoughts. He had been reliving a memory from early on in his days as Captain America, just about to watch a HYDRA bunker explode, when the sound of sand pouring onto the floor wrenched him out of his thoughts.

        For a minute, he thought he'd accidentally destroyed yet another punching bag. Then, he realized that he hadn't even been punching anything.

        Steve turned around.

        And there she was, glaring angrily at a pile of sand and leather on the ground that had probably once been a punching bag but was now nothing more than a few scraps of leather and what looked like half of a beach. She couldn't have been more than twenty-two years old, small and slender, with sleek muscles standing out on her biceps and shoulders. A pair of _(h/c)_ braids swung behind her ears in unison like the pendulum on a clock, and her eyes burned with a fire he hadn't seen before. The skin on her cheekbone was marred by a jagged scar.

        Steve's eyes widened when he saw the spots of color that glowed red on her temples and collarbones, spreading over her shoulders and disappearing beneath the sweat-soaked fabric of her old t-shirt. He knew he had been on ice for decades, but none of SHIELD's resources had said anything about modified humans.

        "What're  _you_ staring at?" The girl snapped defensively, cracking her knuckles one by one as she kicked the ruined sandbag out of the way and grabbed another one.

        Steve shook his head dumbly at her blatant expression of anger and turned back to his bag, trying to focus back in and pretend she wasn't there.

        Five minutes later, another bag burst open. This time, Steve was absolutely positive that there hadn't been a single solid hit landed on it (he hadn't heard one, at least). He whirled around, expecting to find some sort of weird combat method being used, but the girl was just standing there and glowering at the remains of her second bag.

        "Sorry, how did you do that?" He asked, staring at the bag with wide eyes.

        She looked up at him, eyes narrow, and smirked. Steve had to do a double take because, for a minute, it looked like she actually had  _slitted pupils._

Wait. 

        She did.

        If Steve's eyes had been wide before, they were probably the size of pizzas when it registered with him that this girl  _definitely_ wasn't human. He took a step backward, preparing to fight when she laughed lightly and stuck a hand out.

        "Sorry about that.  _(Y/N)_."

        Brain blank of proper the proper thing to say when introducing oneself to scary looking women, Steve did the only thing that came to mind. He reached out, grabbed her hand, and jerked downwards.

        The girl-  _(Y/N)_ \- just laughed again and pulled back up, counteracting every ounce of force he had used and effectively keeping both of them standing without breaking a sweat.

        "You can calm down, okay? I'm surprised Fury didn't tell you I was here."

        "You know Fury?" Steve blurted, releasing her hand like it was a hot iron.

        "Of course I know Fury. He told me about you, Rogers. He's why I'm here. Recommended this gym to me and told me that I might meet you."

        "Do I- do I know you?"

        "Apparently not. My name's  _(Y/N)_ Taeven, I work for SHIELD. Level Ten agent. I just got moved up."

        She reached into a pocket of her tight leggings and pulled out a SHIELD identification card. Steve took it gingerly and flipped it over, reading the bullet points and inspecting the picture. It was definitely  _(Y/N)_ , but her hair was neater and the circles on her forehead were a pale yellow color instead of red.

        "That's a high ranking for someone who's only worked for SHIELD for three months. Forgive me if I don't trust you completely."

        "Fury would vouch for me."

        "You're on his level. I'm only a six and I've been with them for almost three years."

        "I move fast."

        "I can see that. Got any paper proof?"

         _(Y/N)_ laughed again, her voice as clear as a bell and full of amusement. "You're funny, Rogers. Fury didn't say  _that._ That card you're holding  _is_ my paper proof, alright? You got yours?"

        Steve blushed. "Not right now. It's back at my apartment."

        "Hypocrite," she joked, stroking a bit of frizzy hair out of her face. "See you around, yeah?"

        And with that, she left- but not before levitating the destroyed bag off of the ground and into a large trash can. Steve spluttered for a few minutes, trying to figure out what in the world had just happened, before shaking his head and going back to his punching bag.

        If super soldiers existed, why couldn't quirky, sarcastic, inhuman Level Ten agents like  _(Y/N)_?

❖ ❖ ❖

        "Fury, do you know someone named  _(Y/N)_?" Steve asked, looking up from a steaming hot cup of coffee. "She said she was a Level Ten SHIELD agent, and her card checked out."

        "I might. Why do you ask?"

        "Because her card also said that she'd only been working with you for seven or eight months, and I honestly find it hard to believe that someone could move through the ranks that fast."

        Fury draped a knee over his leg, his expression just as inscrutable as ever. " _(Y/N)_ Taeven is one of my best agents, Rogers. She was instated at Level Eight because of her abilities, goals, and interplanetary liaisons. Moved up quickly to a Level Ten with Alpha Clearance."

        " _Interplanetary-"_

"No, Taeven isn't from Earth. Are you really surprised?" He asked dryly. "Got any more coffee, by the way?"

        Steve wordlessly gestured towards the pot that rested on the counter, prompting his 'boss' to stand and go about filling up another mug for himself.

        "You mean people are actually  _out there?_ "

        "Person, technically. We have proof that there are more of them, but she won't speak about any of them. Apparently, a close friend was on her ship when she crashed upstate and he was never found. Assumed dead."

        "That's..."

        "Brutal. I know. Rogers, did you need to talk about something other than my coworker, or am I good to go? I have other things to get around to, you know."

        "No, no, you can go. I was just... she lives in Brooklyn?"

        "Nah. Queens with two of my top field agents. 408 on Fifteenth, number eight. Third floor. Drop by later and tell her hey for me, will you?"

❖ ❖ ❖

        The greatest thing about living with Natasha and Clint was probably the community. 408 on Fifteenth wasn't in the best neighborhood- according to Clint, it was so they could stop more crime. According to Natasha, it was because SHIELD didn't want to draw any attention to them.  _(Y/N)_ believed Natasha. But the people there were just about as nice as people could get in New York City. From the little lady in number eight who had an incredible amount of cats to the married couple in number three who always had pride flags hanging out their window and made cookies for their adopted son, who always brought a few up to share with his 'best friends', they were never lacking in people to talk to when it was needed.

         _(Y/N)_ 's personal favorite was sitting on the staircase when she came in, a notebook resting on his little knees as he doodled cats in the margins with a sparkly pen. His curly hair shrouded his face, but she could discern exactly who he was from his superhero t-shirt.

        "Hey, Pete! Is the school bus late?"

        Peter looked up, grinning as if he had just won the lottery or met one of his favorite scientists (she had been studying up on them so she could engage in conversation with him, but there were  _so many_ of them and they all did different things) at the sight of his neighbor.

        "Hi, Miss  _(Y/N)_! Aunt May and Uncle Ben said I could stay home today 'cause I got ahead on my work last week. So I get to hang out here! Isn't that great?"

        "Definitely. See you later, okay? We can hang out once I've woken Clint and Natasha."

        Apparently, the latter action wasn't necessary, because when  _(Y/N)_  opened the door to her apartment, she was assaulted by the smell of pancakes. She skirted around the divider between the foyer and kitchen and dropped her gym bag on the island, taking a sip of coffee out of Clint's favorite purple mug.

        Natasha stood at the stove in her favorite place, one hand resting on the handle of a pan and a spatula gripped firmly in the other. A plate full of a stack of ever-growing pancakes sat at her right, steam wafting into the air.

        "How was the gym?" She asked, not even bothering to turn around. "Did you like it as much as Clint and I said you would?"

        "Yeah,"  _(Y/N)_ replied, "It was great. I was the only one there for an hour or so."

        "Did a civilian show up?"

        "Ha. I wish."

        "Uh-oh."

        Natasha finished using the last of the batter and turned the stove off, flipping one last disc onto the plate to complete her stack before removing her apron (the text said ' _you want to help? **get out of my kitchen.'**_ ) and hanging it on its peg.

        "Explain."

         _(Y/N)_ sighed and shook her head. "Rogers was there. Like Fury said he would be."

        "Oh." She frowned. "Was he rude to you?"

        "Surprised, shocked, a little scared. But not rude. He saw my spots."

        "Is that an issue? We did warn you that he would probably see you."

        "I know. I just... I don't think I was ready."

        It was true. As usual,  _(Y/N)_ had worked to hide any emotions behind a sassy, sarcastic, slightly annoying facade. But inside... well, having people look at her like she was some sort of monster from a lab wasn't fun. 

        "Aw,  _(Y/N)_ ," Natasha murmured. She reached across the table to place a hand on her apartment mate's, stroking two fingers carefully up her joints. "I'm sorry. You can wait, okay? Take as long as you need. You don't need to push yourself too far."

        "I know. I needed to do it, though, and I'm not going to stop. I'm going back tomorrow morning, Rogers be damned."

        "You really don't have to do that. You're adjusting so much better than any of us thought you would- no offense."

        "None taken."

        She smiled, brushing a red curl away from her forehead before spearing a pancake on her fork and stuffing it into her mouth. "Goof. Baga ah oodn wanna a-hend uh."

         _(Y/N)_ laughed and reached across the table to grab one of Natasha's pancakes, rolling it into a burrito and taking a big bite out of the end. "I thought  _Clint_ was the one who was supposed to talk with his mouth full all the time. I don't understand a word you just said, Tasha."

        She swallowed. "Good. Because I wouldn't want to offend you. But seriously,  _(Y/N)_ , don't push yourself too hard. You've got time now, okay? What you came from... that isn't your reality anymore, okay? You don't have to spend every second of your life worrying about not having the time to do what you need to."

        A silence settled over the kitchen, but it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it could be considered  _warm._ The two women sat across from each other, hands clasped over the table, understanding without having to speak.

         _(Y/N)_ had told Natasha very little about her past, and the same went for both other assassins. All they knew about each other was that they were all killers with rough pasts and trauma- that had been made clear the first time  _(Y/N)_  had woken up in the middle of the night, screaming and gasping for breath after a nightmare. Her roommates had come running blindly into her room, weapons already at the ready, asking if she was okay.

        Family. She had experienced it during the first six years of her life, and again with Gamora, Peter, and the Guardians, but  _this..._ this was a whole new state of being.

         _(Y/N)_ thanked Natasha for the pancakes (and the closure) and deposited her gym bag in the closet before heading into her room, closing the door quietly to avoid waking Clint. She pulled her workout jacket off of her shoulders and hung it neatly in the closet.

        The renovation of her room had been a simple two-day job. The paint color on the walls didn't need to be changed, and neither did the floorboards. Clint dealt with the furniture- a dresser had been shoved between the bed and the opposite wall, fitting neatly in the empty space. He had bought a few boards from the local hardware store and had set about nailing them to the walls, forming shelves and making room for all of the greenery  _(Y/N)_ had added over her time at the apartment. Vines cascaded down the walls, blooming with nondescript white flowers and giving an air of simplicity to her setup.

        A neatly-groomed little tree sat in one corner, providing sweet-smelling blossoms. (Natasha had called it an 'orange' tree, much to  _(Y/N)_ 's confusion. After all, it wasn't orange. It was  _green_. It had taken three or four hours for her to realize why she was confused, and another thirty minutes for Natasha to take her to the grocery store and show her what 'oranges' were. Humans were  _weird._ ).

        The finishing touch sat on the desk: a cassette deck for Peter's mixtape. It had been played more times than  _(Y/N)_ could count, eliciting tears more often than not (but only when nobody was around to hear them, of course).

        She crossed the room and flipped a switch, listening as soft music filled the room. This one was her favorite- _'I'm not in love'_ bu a band Clint had called 10cc.

 _I'm not in love,_  
So don't forget it,  
It's just a silly phase I'm going through.  
And just because,  
I call you up,  
Don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made.  
I'm not in love, no no, it's because...

❖ ❖ ❖

        Natasha sat in silence for what seemed like hours, calmly sipping her coffee and enjoying the way the sun filtered through her gauzy curtains. Music filtered out of  _(Y/N)_ 's room, faint and quiet enough not to be a disturbance- unlike Clint's snores. The man was like a lawnmower some days.

        It was moments like these that she lived for. Peaceful snapshots of life that she had missed out on in her childhood and was finally catching up on.

        The peace was ruined by a loud knock on the door, rattling the wood and sending a few splinters clattering to the ground. A muffled curse drifted under the doorframe.

        Natasha smirked. She recognized that voice from the recordings.

        "Steve Rogers."

        Another curse. "Miss Romanoff... could I come in, please?"

        The door was opened and the blond giant stepped inside. He carefully avoided anything that could be broken and waited to be invited to sit at the table, always the perfect gentleman. Natasha gestured to one of the chairs and pursed her lips.

        "To what do I owe this honor?" She asked dryly.

        "Erm... I was hoping I could speak to your roommate," Steve stuttered. "If that's not too much trouble."

        "Clint or  _(Y/N)_? Also, how did you find my apartment?"

        " _(Y/N)._  And... uh, Fury told me."

        "He's too damn nosy for his own good. I'll go get her, you wait here. Don't touch anything."

        Steve nodded politely, albeit nervously, and looked down at his hands as Natasha tapped away into the corridor and knocked on the door. A few muttered words later and she was back, this time with a grinning  _(Y/N)_ in tow.

        " 'Sup, Rogers?" She asked, grabbing Natasha's coffee cup and taking a sip before handing it back. "Can I help you?"

        "I was just... sorry, Fury sent me to tell you hello."

        Not a lie. Not the truth, but not a lie.

        "Well... tell him I said hi, I guess. Is there... is there anything else? That seems like an awfully sucky reason to come all the way out to Queens for."

        "Yeah, actually," Steve murmured. "I wanted to apologize for not believing you about your clearance level earlier. That was rude of me and I didn't have any basis for an accusation. I'm sorry."

         _(Y/N)_ turned to Natasha disbelievingly. "This guy's an angel." Then, turning back to Steve, she said, "Don't worry about it. No harm, no foul, whatever. Fury cleared it up just fine so there's nothing wrong. Yeah?"

        "T-thanks. I just... he told me about how you worked with him."

        "Fury's a controlling maniac, but he's also my partner. He's great, though, seriously. No sense of humor."

        "I believe that."

        "Well, then." She smiled. "Looks like we're getting somewhere. Nice to meet you, Rogers."


	14. Chapter 14

        There were times that Loki was reminded of how much taller Thanos was than him, painfully at times. It was hard not to notice, after all- the man (god, giant, whatever) had to be at least eight feet tall. And Loki wasn't even a short man, in comparison with the people of his homeland and of Midgard.

        It just served to remind him of how truly insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things.

        But when he worked for Thanos, he had a  _purpose._ He was working toward an end goal, he was  _important,_ he was  _needed._ It was more than he could say for the rest of his life. Living in Thor's shadow, always wondering what was wrong with him, finally finding out that he had been lied to for his entire childhood, had given him so much self-doubt and internal agony that he was surprised he was still able to function on a daily basis.

        Odin had made a mistake by not telling him about his true heritage, that was for sure.

        This was definitely one of those times. Loki stared straight ahead, impassive, at the gargantuan figure that paced slowly in front of him. The trick with Thanos, he had learned, was not to show weakness. Weakness meant death.

        "My Chitauri forces are prepared for battle, Loki of Asgard. Are you prepared to lead them?" Thanos asked, his deep voice echoing through empty space.

        "Yes, my liege. I will bring you victory. I swear it."

        "Good. You are... concise. To the point. Self-assured. I appreciate that in a warrior. You are similar to some of my children, Odinson."

        "Laufeyson. Odin is no more my father than Thor is my brother. I refuse to identify by his surname anymore."

        Thanos nodded approvingly. "Concise. Laufeyson, then. Now, I have an assignment for you. A way for you to exact revenge on those who have wronged you."

        "Command me and I will serve."

        "Good answer. Now, Loki of Asgard- or Jotunheim, if you would prefer it- are you familiar with Earth?"

        “I know it very well. Thor had been gushing about it before I left. I have very strong feelings against it.”

        “That’s wonderful, you’ll be able to work with me perfectly. There’s an artifact on Earth, one with extreme significance regarding my cause. I need you to retrieve it for me as soon as is humanly possible. If you’re able to, the reward will be beyond your wildest dreams. You will have your revenge and I will give you Earth to rule over as its king.”

        Loki raised an eyebrow, quirking his lip up into an enigmatic smile. “I see. And this artifact… what is it?”

        “They call it the Tesseract,” Thanos said. He clenched one large hand into a fist, inspecting each finger carefully. “Terrans use it as an energy source, but they can’t even _begin_ to fathom how much potential it has for other things.”

        “What does it do?”

        “Its exact purpose is none of your concern. Your job is to retrieve it and get it to me, and then you’ll get your reward. Do you understand me?”

        “Of course.”

        He nodded, complacent, and held out one hand in Loki’s direction. Loki eyed it nervously, wondering if he should take it and stand.

        His unasked question was answered when, seemingly out of nowhere, a long object shimmered into existence. Green eyes traveled up a metallic hilt, greedily tracing in inscriptions and designs until they came to rest on the crown jewel: a glowing blue stone.

        “You’ll use this to bring me the Tesseract. Don’t damage or lose it. The stone in the tip is another one of my artifacts and I need it back once you’ve won me my prize. It has plenty of different aspects for you to utilize, so you shouldn’t have any issues completing your mission.”

        Loki took the scepter, running his fingers up and down the patterned handle before nodding decidedly and tossing it between his hands to get a feel for its balance.

        “Thank you. I’ll make good use of it. Is there anything else?”

        Thanos reached up and placed a hand on his rough chin, stroking his fingers over his skin. “I need you to take a message to Earth. One of its inhabitants, to be specific. My former daughter and one of my best soldiers, before she betrayed me and abandoned the Black Order to fight against us.”

        “What is your message?”

        “Tell her I’m coming. I’m coming for her, and there’s nothing she can do to escape me. I won’t rest until she’s been found and returned to me, either dead or alive. And I won’t be afraid to go through anybody who tries to defend her.”

        Loki’s smile widened and darkened, something dark spreading through his mind that he didn’t quite understand. It was some sort of sick excitement, maybe even _lust._

        “It would be my pleasure.”

❖ ❖ ❖

        Halfway across the universe, _(Y/N)_ woke to the loud ringing of her cell phone. She flicked on the light switch, wrestling with a few vines to find it in the darkness. Fumbling fingers blustered through drawers and piles of clothes before she was finally able to find the phone, barely checking the caller identification- Nick Fury.

        "Nick?" She slurred, still partly asleep. "Whazzit? Whaddaya want? 'S too  _early_."

        "You've learned from Barton," Nick said dryly. "I knew it was a mistake to let you stay with him. He's rubbing off on you."

        "I  _swear to the stars,_ Fury, if you don't tell me what's goin' on..."

        "You're being reassigned, agent. I need you packed and ready to go by tomorrow morning."

        And suddenly,  _(Y/N)_ had never been more awake. "I'm sorry?"

        "You heard me, Taeven. You and Barton are needed in a base outside of Santa Fe, Arizona. A dangerous object has come into SHIELD's grasp and I want you here to protect and identify it. Do you understand me?"

        "Stars, I hope not. You want me to be packed in-" she checked the clock, "two hours and ready to go? Have you even called Barton about this?"

        "Of course not," Fury scoffed. "That's what I have you for. Get him up and alert, will you? I have a feeling this is something you'll want to see."


	15. Chapter 15

        The tremors just kept getting worse. Every repetition shook the laboratory with increasing strength, knocking computers and equipment around and sending people stumbling into each other. Dust rained down from the rafters, settling on tables and microscopes. 

        Most of the personnel had already been evacuated, crowding into armored vans and driving off speedily, their arms laden with every single paper they had been able to salvage. Every vehicle was escorted by a pair of security guards until they were safely off the scene and the next van could be moved. Helicopters took off left and right, turning the sky into a veritable minefield.

        None of that mattered. The only thing in  _(Y/N)_ 's head was what was happening  _now,_ far below sea level in the main lab. She sat next to Clint in the rafters, her circles glowing a pensive silver. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the glowing cube below.

        Clint wasn't doing much more. He just crouched in the shadows, one hand resting on his bow and the other on the bars of the railing, fully prepared to catapult himself into the fray at the drop of a hat. His newly cropped hair- courtesy of  _(Y/N)_ during one of their 'bored' sessions- barely scraped the tips of his ears.

         _(Y/N)_ couldn't help but think of Ollie, who had been her companion during her last near-death experience nearly a year before. She hadn't been focused on him much lately- adjusting to Earth was much harder than she had expected- and that fact practically  _flooded_ her with guilt.

        "You doin' okay?"

        "What?" She shook herself slightly, jerking around to face Clint with wide eyes.

        "You doin' okay?" Clint asked again. His voice barely betrayed the exasperation he was feeling, but  _(Y/N)_ knew better than to think that he didn't feel that way. She had been more distant than usual over the last few days.

        "I'm fine. You?"

        "As well as can be expected, considering how we might be blown up by a glowing Rubik's cube within the next hour. That thing's  _crazy_."

        "We're going to be fine,"  _(Y/N)_ said. "I'm not concerned."

        "You recognize that thing?"

        Did she  _recognize_ it? Of  _course._ It contained an object of extreme importance to Thanos, which was why she had accepted her reassignment. Pride was nothing in comparison to the risk the world would run if he was able to procure it.

        "I might."

        "If you do, you'd better tell Fury. This seems like something he'd appreciate knowing about. Y'know, with the whole 'going to explode' issue. Do you know anything about that?"

        "Maybe. Not enough."

        " _(Y/N)_ ," Clint groaned. "Please. Work with me here, okay? If there's something we need to know about this thing, you need to tell us. I don't know if you understand the brevity of what could happen if the cube actually  _does_ something."

        "I don't think you understand the brevity of what will happen either way. Wherever it was... you should've left it. It should never have been brought back to the light of day."

        "...Well. There isn't really anything we can do about that, right? I mean, you couldn't just  _put it back._ "

        "I could, given the right resources and a bit of time. But I don't think SHIELD- or Fury, for that matter- would be okay with losing their latest plaything."

        " _(Y/N)_. Fury is your  _coworker_."

        "And he doesn't need to know everything. I'm compartmentalizing."

        "You're not a director," he muttered. "That's not under your jurisdiction. You don't get to compartmentalize."

        "I have the same clearance as Fury, therefore I have as much authority as he does. I talked to him about it the other day and he agrees. Plus, I don't have to tell anybody anything that I don't want to. We've been over that."

        "Come  _on_ -"

        Down on the ground, a pair of figures emerged from the hallway that fed into the elevator bank.  _(Y/N)_ recognized one as Nick Fury himself- the black trench coat and eyepatch gave it away- but the other was completely unfamiliar to her. Female, judging from the body type and curves, and clearly a threat (one hand settled firmly on the hip, where a firearm was probably concealed, the coiled stance and confident way the shoulders were leading as she walked).

        "Sorry to cut you off, Clint, but I've gotta go. See you later, yeah?"

        "Yeah. I guess."

         _(Y/N)_ grinned toothily over her shoulder as she twirled her fingers artistically- maybe a bit overkill, but still cool- and vaulted straight over the railing. The wind whistled around her ears and moved her hair as she fell, feet stretching towards the ground, arms extended, the floor getting closer and closer with every passing second.

        Right before she smashed into the ground,  _(Y/N)_ flicked her wrist. Her descent stopped as suddenly as it had started, the toes of her combat boots touching down before she allowed the full weight of her body to fall and landed safely on the metal plating.

        "Fury! Glad you could join the party," she shouted, jogging across the room and hopping over the catwalk to meet him. "Did you bring balloons?"

        "Agent Taeven," Fury greeted with a nod. "It's good to see you. This is Agent Maria Hill."

        Definitely female.  _(Y/N)_ looked the new arrival up and down: tall, dark hair pulled back into a neat coil on top of her head, green eyes, pale skin, a SHIELD combat uniform with the logo on its breast. Various weapons on her person. Nothing  _(Y/N)_ couldn't take if she needed to.

         _Stop. Stop assessing people like they're threats._

She forced a smile and held out one hand. " _(Y/N)_ Taeven, nice to meet you."

        "You too, although I wish it could've been under different circumstances. You've been watching the cube?" Maria took her hand and clasped it firmly, shaking it twice before dropping it and gesturing to the origin of the blue glow.

        "Agent Barton and I have, yes. The first tremor was two hours ago and we've been trying to evacuate the area and get it under control since then. Selvig's working on it right now."

        "Any success?"

        "I'm not a scientist, but I have to say no. From what I've seen, the cube's just releasing more energy with every quake. It's only a matter of time before it blows and the whole building collapses."  _(Y/N)_ drew Starkiller from her pocket and flicked it open, stroking the blade gently with one finger. "We have to leave either way. This compound's not going to be able to withstand this kind of force."

        "Damn," Fury cursed angrily. "There's no way we can get it under control?"

        "Doubt it," Clint said, joining the conversation after exiting his lookout in the rafters. "That thing's like a ticking bomb. Selvig's done the best he could, but... I don't think we can do anything about it."

        "Taeven."

        "Sir?"

        "The cube's obviously not from Earth. Is there any information you can give us?" Fury asked, turning to face  _(Y/N)._

Without a moment of hesitation,  _(Y/N)_ slipped smoothly into an impromptu lie. That was what she did, after all. Lie to the people she cared about.

        "Not really, no. I mean, I recognize the concept- glowing blue cube and whatnot- but that's pretty much it. Word travels fast out there, trust me."

        "That checks out."

        Clint fidgeted with the collar of his leather jacket, pulling it up around his neck. "Director Fury, you said that this thing is like a doorway to somewhere in space, right? A portal?"

        "And...?"

        "Doors open from both sides."

         _(Y/N)_ 's eyes widened in realization. She flicked Starkiller, brandishing the blade, and shoved Fury out of the way in one fluid motion. He sprawled out on the ground, rolling onto his back and opening his mouth to berate her, but nothing ever came out.

        The cube released a single pulse, stronger than every other one, knocking everybody who was still standing off of their feet before sending out a ray of blue energy across the length of the catwalk.  _(Y/N)_ watched, horrified, as a swirling blue disc formed at the far end of the room, rotating quickly and giving of such a large amount of force that she couldn't even  _try_ to stumble to her feet.

        It ended as quickly as it had begun. The disc- no,  _portal_ \- collapsed in on itself, disappearing from existence as if it had never even been there.

        A single person stepped out.

         _(Y/N)_ stood, tossing her sword from one hand to the other in a clear display of strength. She cocked her head to one side, scrutinizing the new arrival. He looked like some of the people she had done business with back in the Black Order, with spiky black hair that seemed to be slicked back with some sort of gel and the palest skin she had ever seen. It looked like he hadn't eaten in days.

        The aura of tension in the laboratory thickened as the man stood, facing _(Y/N)_ and Clint with an odd little smile on his face. In his hands, he held a sharp scepter, tipped with sharp edges and a glowing blue stone.

        Her breath caught.

         _No. The stone._

" _Stand down!_ "  _(Y/N)_ shouted desperately.  _"Do not engage! DO NOT EN-"_

It was too late. On some unspoken order, a pair of security guards dressed in black kevlar hefted their weapons and sent a barrage of bullets hurtling through the air in the intruder's direction. She threw out one hand, trying to solidify the air between them to stop them, but two pellets made it through and continued in their path.

        It happened so fast that  _(Y/N)_ could barely process anything. The man deflected both bullets with his scepter and pushed off of the floor, flying across the room and impaling one of the guards with the sharp tip before slamming the butt into the other's head, sending him crashing into the wall. 

        Maria grabbed Fury by the arm and pulled him to his feet. She drew her pistol and began to unload bullets in the general direction of the skirmish, although it didn't do much good- whoever this otherworldly intruder was, he knew how to fight.

        Clint whipped his bow out to its full five-foot length and quickly strung a pair of arrows, but  _(Y/N)_ placed her hand on his arm and shook her head.

        "You can't fight him, Clint," she said. "Arrows won't do anything but deplete your store. Don't bother."

        "Then how the hell do you expect me to fight him?!"

        "I don't. Get the cube out of here and let me deal with this. It's too dangerous."

        " _(Y/N)-_ "

        "I know what I'm doing, okay? This guy's a space man, and I'm a space girl. Trust me."

        "But I can't let you-"

        "Get the cube and leave,"  _(Y/N)_ said firmly. "Then we'll regroup. Understood?"

        Clint took a deep breath and nodded, trying for a smile. He collapsed his bow and stashed it again before pulling a gun out of his pocket and jogging up onto the catwalk, pulling gloves on and looking for a container.

        With half of the issue out of the way,  _(Y/N)_ turned her attention to their more dangerous problem.

        The man, whoever he was, clearly knew what he was doing. The connected movements of his arms and the scepter were too fast for the guards' eyes to track properly, so by the time they were ready to defend themselves they were already dead. Every time one guard fell, another took his place- and another joined the bodies on the floor.

         _(Y/N)_ practically hurled herself between the scepter and a man who was about to suffer the same fate as his companions. She swung her sword in a high arc over her head, bringing it crashing down on the scepter and pinning it to the floor.

        For a moment, the only sound in the room was the hum of the cube, which had calmed down significantly. The tremors had ceased, leaving everybody in a state of apprehension and fear.

        Pale green met  _(e/c),_ and the man grinned.

        "Finally, a worthy opponent."

❖ ❖ ❖

        Clint snuck across the floor, gripping the briefcase in both hands, his knuckles practically turning white. The cube didn't way nearly as much as he had expected it to, seeing as it was made of energy, but getting it into a containment unit without burning his hands or dropping it had been a stressful ten minutes.

        Worse still was that he had to watch  _(Y/N)_ fight on her own.

         Clint had never seen her fully in action. Nobody on Earth had, and it seemed that they had been missing out on quite the experience. She was just about one of the strongest combatants he had ever seen (and that was saying something, considering the fact that Natasha had been his partner for several years).

         _(Y/N)_ was, to put it simply, a natural. Every movement was planned and executed to its fullest potential, resulting in a nearly-flawless offensive position. Scepter-man, as Clint had deemed him, had been forced to take the defensive side, which made it almost _impossible_ for him to get around  _(Y/N)_ and try for what he assumed was his target- the cube.

        "Barton," Fury murmured, carefully stepping up onto the tarmac with Maria in tow. He held out one hand, gesturing for the briefcase, and Clint was more than happy to hand it over. He was a field agent, after all, and his forte was  _not_ reconnaissance or object recovery.

        "I suggest you assist the scientists in their evacuation. I have somewhere to be."

        Clint nodded an affirmative and turned, jogging over to where the bulk of the research staff- including Eric Selvig- was trying to recover from their shock. He could see  _(Y/N)_ and scepter-man duking it out in the corner of his eye, whirling and slashing and stabbing at each other. She ducked under a powerful swing and jabbed her sword playfully at her opponent's side (except it wasn't  _playful_  because the blade cleaved straight through armor and into his skin) before using her powers to hop straight over his head and send him reeling backward, clutching at his injury.

        Clint deemed it safe to look away, which was his first mistake. His second was turning back around.

          _(Y/N)_ shouted in alarm and, suddenly, it was no longer safe. Because the man had smacked her straight over the head with the broad side of his scepter, knocking her to the ground, and shimmered into existence right in front of Clint.

        There was a moment of silence. The two men stared at each other, eyes wide, facing off right in front of the cube's former resting spot.

        "You have heart," scepter-man said softly, a thick British accent edging his voice. "I am Loki of Asgard, and I am here to lead you to our glorious future."

        And with that, he tapped the sharp edge of the scepter against Clint's sternum.

        Everything went black.

❖ ❖ ❖

        It was like everything fell into slow motion.  _(Y/N)_ watched, one hand outstretched to stop the path of Loki's weapon, as Clint's pupils ballooned and filled his eyes with black before fading to an incredibly bright blue.        

        "Clint?" She shouted, knowing that she wouldn't get an answer. " _CLINT!"_

        "I'm afraid your friend is no more," Loki said. He smiled softly, as if  _(Y/N)_ was nothing more than a child who wanted her favorite toy back. "He is under my control, now, and there's nothing you can do. He can't hear you."

        "Give him back. Now, or I'll kill you."        

        "You're not exactly in a position to make demands, darling. Don't worry, I'll return him to you in due time. You might not live long enough to appreciate it, though."

        "I swear to-"

        "Now, now," He warned, holding up his free hand and wagging a finger. "Is this really the wisest time to mouth off? I have a companion of yours under my control. I could force him to do whatever I wanted to,  _(Y/N)_ Taeven. And you would have to watch."

        "You know who I am."

        "Of course.  _He_ told me about you, and this man... well, I know nearly everything there is to know about you. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that you don't know some of this yourself, actually, Xhareian."

        It felt like  _(Y/N)_ 's heart had been knocked directly out of her chest. She took a step back, then another, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. 

        Nick, on his way to the door, took his opportunity to escape. He broke into a quick jog, then a run, Maria on his right.

        "Taeven, get out! Now!"

        Loki turned with another smile. Clint, emotionlessly (painfully) turned with him and, quick as a flash, fired off two shots. Both buried themselves in Fury's shoulder, and to  _(Y/N)_ 's horror, he dropped the briefcase.

        Clint was quick to pick it up and return it to Loki, who opened the lid.

        "The Tesseract, a source of unbridled power for those who know how to use it correctly. I'm afraid you've lost quite the valuable asset here, darling, seeing as there is no way you could recover it now. Your building grows unstable and if you don't leave now, you'll be buried along with your companions. It would be best if you admit defeat and surrender to me. You must admit that it's the wiser decision than surrendering to  _him_  is."

        The hatred in  _(Y/N)_ 's smoldering gaze was so strong that it was a miracle that Loki didn't just keel over and die right there. After a tense moment, she nodded briskly and turned toward the door, walking over to the exit with strength in her stride. Fury and Hill followed close behind, both confused and concerned for the seemingly unrequited show of weakness.

        "This isn't over,"  _(Y/N)_ bit out. "I'll be back for Clint and the Tesseract. You tell  _him,_ understood? Tell him that I'm coming."

        "I never doubted it. But I'm afraid you're no match for the Titan,  _(Y/N)._ He'll crush you like an insect."

        "Then tell him I'll see him in Hell."


	16. Chapter 16

        Flashes of gunfire. Screaming. Blood. Explosions. Men falling all over the place, only to be replaced by more men, who fell just as quickly as their predecessors did.

        That was what plagued Steve's mind in every waking moment of his life. Moments of flashbacks from the war, from the plane crash, from waking up in that room in SHIELD and realizing that everything from his old life was nothing but null and void. That Peggy was decades older than him, Dugan and Morita and the others were dead, and Bucky was nothing but a distant memory.

        Some people seemed to think that when you looked back on the old days, it was supposed to be a fond reminiscence. When Steve looked back on the 'old days', all he saw was pain and loss.

        There was nothing fond about his past except for Bucky, Peggy, and Abraham Erskine, and they were either in nursing homes or dead.

         _Smack. Smack. Smack._ Fists slammed into the punching bag with a steady rhythm. Steve tucked his elbows close to his body with a precision that only a soldier could have, keeping his motions small and powerful.

        It was moments like these that he got lost in his mind. Four or five minutes into his workout and he was as good as gone. It took quite the shock to get him back into reality.

        Apparently, Nick Fury was exactly the kind of shock he needed.

        "Going a little rough on that punching back, are you, Rogers?"

        Steve whirled around, sweat dripping down his forehead. Nick was standing at the other end of the gym in his trademark black suit, casually leaning up against the wall with a manila folder in his hands.

        "Good to see you again, Fury."

        "You too. Did I catch you in the middle of a workout?"

        "Nah. I was... just finishing up."

        "I wouldn't care if you weren't. You're needed."

        He raised an eyebrow, swiping a hand across his hair to try and comb it back into place. "Nice to hear that, even if you've been radio silent for almost a year now. What can I help you with?"

        Fury sighed. "You know what the Tesseract is, Rogers?"

        "Of course. I spent almost a year trying to get that thing under control. Last I saw, it was under the ice in the North Atlantic. Why do you ask?"

        "Because it's not under the ice anymore. When you were removed from the wreckage of that plane, we withheld some pretty important information from you."

        "I never expected anything different. You don't seem like the kind of person who gives secrets away freely."

        "This is something you probably should've known, though," He muttered. "After your fall, there were some people looking for you. Howard Stark and Peggy Carter, among others. Obviously, they didn't find you. But they did find the Tesseract."

        Steve's heart dropped to his stomach. "You've gotta be kidding me."

        "I assure you, I'm not. The Tesseract has been at SHIELD for the majority of the time that you were frozen. We've been testing it, experimenting on it, trying to figure out what it was supposed to do. And now-"

        "Let me guess, you've lost it? Someone came and took it?"

        "An extraterrestrial by the name of Loki. He showed up, killed my men and gave my best agent a nasty bump on the head, took one of my operatives, took the Tesseract, and trashed my facility."

        "And now you need my help to get it back."

        "Not just yours, Rogers. You and a number of incredibly talented people have been under surveillance for the past few years in case of a situation just like this."

        "So you've been stalking me."

        "In a word, yes. Rogers, you've done so much for this world already. But I'm going to need you to work with us one more time. Will you help me save the world again?"

        Steve leaned up against the ropes on the wrestling platform, eyeing the manila folder as if it was about to come alive and try to bite his hand off. There was a moment of silence.

        "What do I need to do?"

❖ ❖ ❖

        Natasha was asleep when she got the call. The apartment had been blissfully silent for several months after Clint and  _(Y/N)_ had been relocated to somewhere in Arizona, which meant she was finally able to fall asleep and stay asleep for a reasonable amount of time before she had to get up and eat her healthy breakfast (no sugary cereal, Clint, thank you very much).

        But blissfully silent was hovering on the edge of uncomfortably silent. Clint, however annoying he tended to be, was a welcome presence. And  _(Y/N)_ , always aggressively quiet, couldn't have been more welcome. Natasha  _wanted_ someone to come in and break up the silence. She _wanted_ Clint to turn on the sink grinder and sing along like an idiot for no apparent reason. She _wanted_   _(Y/N)_ to get into her room and start blasting _I'm Not In Love_ or one of her newer acquisitions at full volume so that it almost shook the building.

        But they were both on the other side of the country, and Natasha was alone, and it made her want to kill someone (namely Fury).

        So when she picked up the phone, you can probably guess who was on the other end of the line.

        "Agent Romanoff. Sorry if I've caught you at a bad time, but you're needed immediately. I'll send a quinjet to pick you up."

        "I'm sorry?" Natasha wrinkled her nose. "It's five in the morning here, Fury, and I'm not taking orders. There's no way I'm flying out to the middle of nowhere right now."

        "It's not about that, Natasha. I know you just got back from a mission and you're tired, but this issue is much more pressing than an interrogation and dispatch. You need to get out here as soon as possible."

        "I'm not going _anywhere_ if you don't tell me  _why,"_ she argued. "I'm not going to be uninformed anymore. You can't just-"

        "Barton's been taken and Taeven's compromised. She needs you and I need you to help get him back. This is bigger than us, alright? Bigger than me and you, bigger than Taeven, and bigger than Barton. If you don't get out here, the world as we know it could potentially end."

        "I'll be right there."

        "Wonderful."

        Natasha pressed her finger firmly down on the  _drop call_ button and tossed her phone onto her bed, hopping off of the duvet and crossing the room to look in her closet. She pushed past the leather jackets and black dresses, going straight to the back of the rack and pulling out a familiar tac-suit.

        "Never thought I'd be putting  _this_ on again."

        She stripped out of her t-shirt and leggings, pulling the suit on as quickly as she could before zipping the collar and adjusting her belt. It still fit as snugly as it had the first day she put it on, back when she had been a teenager and still trying to figure out her conflicted feelings towards her career as an assassin.

        Ah, nostalgia.

        Natasha grabbed her backpack off of the desk and, without so much as a peek, swung out of her bedroom and into the hallway. It didn't take long for her to have everything under control- empty coffee machine, checked fridge, windows locked, avocado tree watered, bathroom lights turned off.

        On her walk down the hall, she came to  _(Y/N)_ 's door. It was cracked open about an inch, leading way to a dark room. Natasha hesitated; she didn't like to invade other people's privacy, but maybe just this once...

         A single push and the door opened all the way, swinging back to bump into the back wall. She ran a hand over the nearest wall and flicked up the light switch, squinting when the room was flooded with a warm yellow light.

        Natasha had never really been inside  _(Y/N)_ 's finished room. The other woman was very secretive about her personal belongings- which made Natasha feel a bit guilty about snooping- which meant that her roommates were never invited inside.

        Well, opportunities should be taken when they can be, right?

        It was simple- typical for  _(Y/N)_. The walls were a spotless beige color, the hardwood floors shone as if they had just been polished, and the gray-blue duvet on the bed was smooth and neat. Everything was perfectly organized except for the wall of greenery above the desk, which spilled down onto the floor and extended a few feet into the room. Potted plants fit next to small trees and vines that were dotted with little white flowers, lending the otherwise simple room a bit of character.

        Natasha smiled. That was her girl.

❖ ❖ ❖

         _(Y/N)_ had been sitting in the back of a helicopter for at least twelve hours, and it was getting  _really_ monotonous. The drone of the engine, the whir of the blades, and the constant flow of  _talking_ from the pilot, copilot, and various SHIELD agents who had managed to escape from the base was getting incredibly annoying, so she did what she always had.

        She fell asleep. Right there, on one of the seats in the back of a nearly-destroyed helicopter, with her head in Maria Hill's lap and her feet propped up on Nick's knee.

        Maria raised an eyebrow and twisted around to look at her boss without waking her up. "This is the famous  _(Y/N)_ Taeven?  _This_ is your top agent?"

        "She's had a rough day, Hill. Cut her a break."

        "We've all had a rough day. She's asleep in my lap."

        "My cat used to fall asleep in my lap."

        "She's not a cat."

        "She's not from Earth, you don't know what she is."

        "I know she's not a cat."

        "You really don't-"

        "I do. I know one-hundred-percent that she's not a cat."

        Nick sent Maria what could only be described as a petty glare, which was definitely an interesting look on the infamous Director of SHIELD. Maria sent back an unimpressed glance before turning back to her Ipad and unlocking the screen.

        "So what do you advise us to do?" She asked, slipping back into her 'professional' mode. "We can't just ignore this."

        "I wasn't planning to. We'll take action immediately."

        "How? Your best team is incapacitated, you've lost one of your best stealth agents, and the Tesseract is gone. We're very limited with our options right now, sir."

        "On the contrary. I've got all the options in the world right now, Hill."

        "All due respect, but that doesn't make any sense. We've been beaten, to put it plainly."

        "We might've lost the battle, but we're going to win the war."

        "So you're saying that war is a threat?"

        "No, I'm saying that war is definite. We've got an interplanetary issue on our hands, and it's only going to get worse."

        Maria blinked. "Sir, you don't seem very optimistic about our situation."

        "Oh, I'm not. But I've got hope," Fury said, glancing down to where  _(Y/N)_ was still asleep. "And I've got a new team. We just have to see if that's enough."

❖ ❖ ❖

        There were places in India that were practically riddled with sickness. Bruce couldn't seem to turn a corner without running into someone who was coughing, crying, bleeding somewhere, or dying (or dead, of course). It had been that way for the majority of his stay.

        That was the good thing about being a doctor who was willing to work for free and just help people for the sake of helping them. There was a limited number of people like that in the world, and Bruce was proud to count himself among them.

        But there was only so much he could do. More often than not, his patients didn't make it much longer than three or four days, and then all he could do would be to apologize to their family and pack up his bags. He was doing his  _best,_ but it was rarely enough.

        So he kept going and pushed through the sadness that came without being able to do a thing but ease suffering and politely ignore tears.

        Bruce had been at the house of one of the aforementioned patients when the little girl came running up the stairs. An entire family had been infected and was already nearing the end, filling the quarantine area with the stench of death. Bruce wanted to  _leave._ He wanted to run and not come back, to shirk his responsibility and take care of himself. 

        The little girl was an invitation to do just that. She came running up the stairs, panting heavily and rambling on in Hindi so that he could barely interpret fast enough. The panic at realizing that this little thing would probably be infected by the end of the day was at the front of his mind, blocking everything else out.

        "This is a quarantine!" Bruce exclaimed. "You can't be in here right now, you have to leave!"

        "I can't!" The little girl shouted back in English. "My father, he's sick."

        Well. That certainly changed things.

        "Like them?" He asked, gesturing towards the sick people in the corner.

        She nodded. "Please."

        Bruce couldn't refuse. He grabbed his bag, zipping it up and following her down the stairs and into the streets without so much as a good-bye to the house's occupants. The girl wove through crowds and between stalls, the sounds of her feet all but disappearing into the sounds of Kolkata.

        Now, Bruce was not athletic. The Other Guy was, sure, but that was a completely different story. None of Hulk's traits- physical or emotional, thank god- carried over into Bruce's body, so when he was himself, he was nothing but Bruce Banner: scientist, doctor, and official Nice Guy.

        The girl led him through the streets, all the way across town, and into a little house on the edge of the city. It was broken down pretty badly, but every wall was intact and it actually didn't look that bad. A family sat outside with a television, watching quietly as Bruce and his little companion entered the house and closed the door.

        But it didn't stop there, because instead of leading him to a sick man, the girl scampered through a back window and disappeared from sight.

        A young woman stepped out of the shadows in her place, prompting Bruce to step back. He knew danger when he saw it, and this was  _definitely_ adanger.

        "Relax, Doctor Banner," the woman said calmly. Her voice was tinged with a slight accent- somewhere in the Eastern European range, but not like anything he had ever heard before. "I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk."

        "And your little actress friend? Started her a little bit early, huh?"

        "No. I was younger than her when I started, and she's being paid as we speak. Don't bother with that."

        "Why shouldn't I? It seems to be just as much my business as it is yours."

        "Because you have more important things to worry about."

        She reached into the pocket of her leather jacket, eyes fixated on Bruce's face. A smattering of glowing dots around her temples and exposed collarbones pulsated between orange and silver, switching at random and fading into each other. 

        Bruce flinched back, but when she withdrew her hand, the only thing in it was a small paper package.

        "Gum?"

        "Sorry, can I help you? I have a job to do, and this is sort of interrupting my schedule. So if you could go ahead and try to kill me without all of this mystery, that would be great," he said angrily. 

        The woman laughed lightly and shoved the gum back into her pocket. "Sorry, Banner. I'm afraid I won't be able to do that today, so you might be a bit disappointed."

        "You're-"

        "Not going to try to kill you, that's for sure. I have better things to do with my time."

        "If you're not going to kill me, what do you want?" 

        Bruce sat down at the table. She followed suit, brushing a few  _(h/c)_ strands of hair out of her face and plopping down in the chair across from him with an aura of amusement.

        "My name is  _(Y/N)_ Taeven. I'm an official liaison from SHIELD- interplanetary information, superhuman combat tech, stealth agent, whatever. And I've been sent by Nick Fury to recruit you."

        "Is this recruitment mandatory or do I actually have a choice?"

         _(Y/N)_ laughed again. "I'd like to tell you what you want to hear, but I can't do that. We need you, Doctor Banner. The world needs you, and I'm afraid I can't let you refuse this offer."

        Bruce's eyes flicked back and forth between the door, the window, and his unexpected visitor. No matter how strong this kid thought she was, he was the  _Hulk._ There was no way she could fend him off if he turned green.

        "I know what you're thinking, and there's no way it'll work. You're not leaving this house until I get the answer I want."

        Silence.

        "Aren't I?"

        He pushed his chair away from the table with a  _screech_ and made a mad dash for the door, ready to hurl himself through it and escape back into Kolkata.  _(Y/N)_ just sat in her seat, smiled, and raised her right hand.

        Bruce's muscles clenched up in the blink of an eye and all of a sudden, he couldn't move. His mind raced as he tried to break away from whatever this  _witch_ had done to him, but it was like his nerves weren't connecting with his muscles.

        "Take a seat, Doctor."

        And then, without a single order from his brain, he was being forced to walk back over to his chair and sit down. The hatred in his eyes burned as he glared at  _(Y/N)_ , who just smiled and wiggled her fingers.

        "I said superhuman, yes? Now, tell me what I want to hear."

❖ ❖ ❖

        Tony wasn't exactly expecting a world-changing event. He was expecting Stark Tower to become a 'beacon of clean energy', which would've been great, and he was expecting to have a drink or two with Pepper and then go to bed. And maybe kiss Pepper some, but other than that, his plans were relatively simple.

        So, of course, someone had to screw everything up.

        That 'someone' came in the form of Phil Coulson, tucked neatly into a business suit with his sunglasses on and his hair combed back perfectly. The guy never changed, really. Every time Tony saw him, he was wearing a suit and he  _never_ seemed to change his hairstyle.

        Some variety would've been brilliant. A welcome change, really.

        Tony picked up his buzzing phone, apologizing briefly to Pepper before holding it up to his ear and clicking the 'accept' button. The wonderfully monotonous voice of Coulson came filtering through the speakers.

        "Mr. Stark, we need to talk."

        "You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark, please leave a message." He grinned at his girlfriend, who shook her head.

        "This is urgent."

        "Then leave it  _urgently_."

        The elevator button  _dinged_ and, lo and behold, there Phil was. Tony's phone buzzed once, twice-  _call dropped._

"Security breach," he muttered, turning to Pepper. "That's on you."

        "Mr. Stark."

        She grinned happily and placed her glass on the table, brushing a strand of bright red hair out of her face. "Phil! Come in."

        " _Phil?_ Uh, his first name is _A_ _gent."_

        "Tony, play nice. We're celebrating."

        "Which is why he can't stay."

        Phil flashed Tony an unimpressed glance before pulling a tablet out of his pocket. "We need you to look this over as soon as possible."        

        "I don't like being handed things."

        Pepper groaned. "Which is  _great,_ because I love being handed things. Pass it over."

        " _Pep-"_

 _"Tony._ "

        "Fine." He turned to Phil. "So, Agent, how may we help you this fine evening? I had  _plans,_ but they seem to have been canceled."

        "Shame. Mr. Stark, you know about the Avengers Initiative, don't you?"

        "Of course. I was considered before they decided I was too much of a loose cannon and didn't work well with others."

        "Well..." He reached over to Pepper and flicked a button on the Ipad, filling the room instantly with six different holographic squares. 

        Captain America with his shield. Thor with his hammer and Rapunzel hair. Natasha Romanoff, who he  _definitely_ recognized. Two men, one with a bow and arrow and the other in a lab coat. A woman with a sword and odd markings on her forehead.

        "What is all of this?" Tony asked, his voice hushed slightly. "These people..."

        "This is the world's next team of heroes. And I'm proud to say, Mr. Stark, that we've decided to bring you into the team. Welcome to the Avengers.

❖ ❖ ❖

_And at that moment, all around the world, five remarkable people prepared for their first battle together._

_They didn't know that they would fight as a team until their last._


	17. Chapter 17

        Helicarriers were, apparently, a marvel of architecture and engineering on Earth. Nick had been very excited to show off his latest acquisition (if it could've been called excitement considering his incredible assortment of two facial expressions) to all of his apparent allies.

         _(Y/N)_ , who had arrived two days prior to every other 'Avenger', as they were apparently to be called, didn't have to go through the tour. And she certainly wasn't very impressed by the extent of Earth's technological advances.

        Back in space, everything was just as great as the helicarriers, if not better. The size was nothing special, the engines weren't anything out of the ordinary, and the design was commonplace. Bada-bing, bada-boom, unimpressed.

         _(Y/N)_ stayed on the bridge until her new teammates' arrival, monitoring the computers and constantly checking every site she could access to find Clint as quickly and efficiently as possible. Under her supervisions, SHIELD techs continually ran sweeps on faces and crowds to see if he was within the reach of their cameras.

        There was absolutely no progress. Clint was effectively off-radar and  _(Y/N)_ was effectively pissed.

        So when Nick called her up to the deck of the helicarrier, she wasn't thrilled. In fact, she was quite the opposite. With one hand firmly positioned on her hip and the other clenched over her gun, she marched straight up the stairs and into the open air, where Nick and a fleet of landing helicopters were waiting.

        "I'm busy,"  _(Y/N)_ snapped. "What could possibly be more important than finding Barton?!"

        "The others are here," Nick replied calmly. "I figured you'd want to meet them and reunite with Romanoff, explain the situation to her."

        "You haven't  _told_ her?"

        "She doesn't know everything. I'm leaving that to you. Besides, I have to brief two of your other allies."

        "You should've done it over the phone."

        "You should watch your tone."

         _(Y/N)_ sneered, tilting her head to one side and condescendingly looking him up and down. Her circles turned a surprisingly dark shade of red. "I'm not your subordinate anymore. You promoted me, remember? I have just as much power and authority inside this organization as you do."

        "A little  _respect_ is in order for all of us."

        "A little  _respect_ never got anyone anywhere. You don't win wars by being  _nice_ , Nick. You win them by whatever means necessary."

        Nick shot her a glance that was so full of pity that it made her want to melt into a puddle of angry goo. "If that's the way you think things are, you're in for a surprise."        

        "I know the way things are. This is the world we live in, alright? So step back and let me do my job. Killing people is what I do."

        Shaking her head bitterly,  _(Y/N)_ pursed her lips and turned away. Her ponytail fluttered in the sudden breeze that was kicked up by the landing helicopters.

        "I don't have time to argue with you over this, Fury. Because unlike you, I care about Barton's life instead of his significance to this organization. He's my  _friend._ And I've lost enough friends and siblings to people like Loki." A pause. "See you around."

        She walked at a fast clip towards one of the copters, its rotors slowing, as she gripped her gun like it was her lifeline. And, in some ways, it was.

        The first person to step out was, thankfully, Natasha. Her red hair had been newly cut and curled, coiled perfectly around her face as if it was superglued into place. Not a strand was out of place, there wasn't a smudge on her tan jacket, and her black jeans were all but spotless.

        Natasha was always so put together. It was funny, because  _(Y/N)_ was essentially her polar opposite. There wasn't a bit of organization in her core, there never had been, and there never would be.

        Natasha made a beeline straight for her roommate when she saw her, striding across the tarmac with her heeled boots and her stoic expression.

        And then, she did something  _(Y/N)_ had never expected her to do. The minute Natasha reached her, she was pulled straight into a tight hug.

         _(Y/N)_ stiffened. Every muscle in her arms froze up and stopped working. Her synapses stopped firing.

         _Affection. Not a threat._

_Maybe._

Natasha ran a hand through her  _(h/c)_ hair, letting  _(Y/N)_  bury her face in her shoulder and humming quietly.

        "We're going to find him,  _(Y/N)_. We're going to find him and we're going to bring him home. I promise."

❖ ❖ ❖

        The other two arrived soon after, stepping onto the helicarrier with various degrees of nervousness radiating off of their persons.  _(Y/N)_ and Natasha waited calmly on the deck, having slipped back into their 'agent' personas after their brief show of emotions. Both women were clearly not messing around; every atom in their bodies spelled out tension and danger.

        Steve, ever the gentleman, recognized  _(Y/N)_ and Natasha from their meetings in Brooklyn and Queens (respectively) and made his way across the landing pad to meet them.  _(Y/N)_ smiled wanly and held out a hand.

        "Nice to see you again, Rogers."

        "Likewise. I wish it was under better circumstances, though. I'm sorry to hear about your partner."

        "Thank you. I appreciate it."

        The formality in the air was stifling. Natasha rolled her eyes.

        "You should probably go ahead inside, Cap. Make things a little bit easier on all of us. We'll get Banner and bring him down and then we can all have coffee together and chat about the latest gossip, huh?"

         _(Y/N)_ sent an apologetic smile in Steve's direction before nodding and stepping aside, giving him a clear path to one of the doors. He thanked her and did as they said, leaving the duo alone again.

        "I think you should go inside, too,"  _(Y/N)_ murmured. "Get him adjusted. This is probably a pretty crazy change from the twentieth century if what I've been reading is accurate."

        "Why don't  _you_ go inside?"

        "Because I'm not good at 'feelings' or 'helping' and I don't know anything about when he was born other than what I've seen online. You do, so you're the obvious choice."

        Natasha grinned and tapped her on the shoulder, turning and following Steve into the helicarrier and out of sight. The door closed with a  _thud._

Bruce was the next person to exit, and he- unlike Steve- definitely wasn't happy to see  _(Y/N)_. At all. The minute she caught his eye, a vein in his neck popped out and started to throb, and if she had seen correctly, he started to turn green.

        Yeah, that was definitely the Hulk showing.

        Bruce stomped straight over from the helicopter, ignoring the SHIELD agents around him, and drew himself up to his full height (which, granted, was average if nothing else).  _(Y/N)_ raised an eyebrow, placing her hand firmly on the butt of her gun as a warning.

        "I could kill you right now, easy as nothing."

        "I sincerely doubt that," she said coolly. "You remember that I don't have to touch you to choke you out, don't you? I've nearly done it once before."

        "You ambushed me in the middle of a city in India with plenty of civilians around, what was I supposed to do? I couldn't  _fight back_ _,_ not with innocents in the blast zone," he growled. "If we had been in a more isolated place, you'd be six feet under."

        "Right. Because you had absolutely no warning. Didn't you expect someone to come?"

        "Not this soon. Most people who know who I am are too afraid to come anywhere near me, let alone confront me."

        "I'm not 'most people', Doctor. I'm a SHIELD official and, therefore, don't play by the rules."  _(Y/N)_ smirked. "Besides, I didn't  _ambush_ you. There were no aggressive movements made in your direction until after you tried to run, and that was just to get you to sit down. What did you expect me to do, let you leave? When something like this is on the line? I don't think so."

        Bruce argued, "You had no right to force me to stay. That's against the law here. Abduction."

        "Yeah, well, where  _I'm_ from, it's called  _getting what I want._ And I don't plan to stop, so you had better let me do my job."

        "I'm not working with you."

        She snorted. "Well, we won't have to interact after this mission is over, so you should be fine."

        "I didn't sign up for this."

        "Nobody signs up for war, Dr. Banner. Now, if you would follow me inside, we need to get going. It's about to get really hard to breathe out here."

❖ ❖ ❖

        Nick was standing at the helm of the helicarrier when  _(Y/N)_ and Bruce entered. Natasha and Steve sat at the meeting table along with Coulson and Hill, who were poring over a clipboard together and exchanging hushed whispers. Steve looked incredibly uncomfortable and out of place in his plaid shirt and slacks. Natasha just picked at her perfect fingernails like she always did, uninterested in the conversation.

         _(Y/N)_ turned to give Bruce a catty grin before taking a tablet from one of the nearest SHIELD techs and heading over to Nick to watch through the large window as they rose to meet the clouds.

        "How's your new recruit?" He asked knowingly.  _(Y/N)_ groaned and bit her lip, playfully smacking him in the arm.

        "Banner hates me because I locked his muscles when he was trying to run. No damage to anything but his pride, so he'll hate me for a while.  _Men._ "

        "I know. Listen, just don't kill him and give him his space when we're in enclosed spaces, alright? Otherwise, you can go nuts. Fight to your heart's content. I don't care."

        "Wonderful." Cue the barracuda smile. 

        "Any news on Barton?"

        Say good-bye to the barracuda smile.  _(Y/N)_ looked down at the tablet, punching in a quick code and scanning her thumbprint to unlock the screen. A set of neat statistics and images greeted her, each with a coordinating location. After a quick once-over, she shook her head.

        "Nothing. He's disappeared completely. We're checking computers, phones, security feeds,  _whatever the hell_ I can think of. But Clint, Loki, Selvig, and every other one of those SHIELD scientists and guards are just  _gone._ I can't find them anywhere."

        "We're going to locate him, Taeven. You don't need to worry."

        "Don't treat me like a child,"  _(Y/N)_ scoffed. "None of that. I know when to worry and when not to."

        "You've lost people in this field before." A statement.

        "Hasn't everybody?"

        Nick turned his head to one side and glared at her, clearly wanting more information. "I like to know a few things about my closest associates. Expand."

        Silence. 

        "I have two sisters like me out there. Adopted. One of them is still in a bad situation. The other got out. As far as I know, she's safe. Found a few people who care about her and protect her. When I escaped, I stayed with them for about two years. They took care of me, tried to keep me safe and help me recover."

        "It didn't work."

        "Never does. Nightmares come back. My training kicks in every time I enter a new situation. I never stop  _analyzing_ people. It's like they're  _threats_ all the time, and I can't turn it off."  _(Y/N)_ 's voice had dropped to a distressed murmur. "Nothing's changed in the three years since I got out. I keep finding people and getting attached to them and then I just  _lose_ them again."

        "Like Barton."

        "Like Barton," she confirmed, practically trembling. "And now he's gone. Natasha'll be next, bet my ass."

        "No need for that... your sisters, when you say they're like you, do you mean...?" Nick pointed a finger at  _(Y/N)_ 's temples.

        "Nobody has circles like me if that's what you're asking. Everyone who did is dead. One's a luphomoid and the other's Zehoberei."

        "And you're neither of those. Luphomoid and Ze-whatever."

        "I'm Xhareian. That place doesn't exist anymore, so if you're wondering for those sorts of purposes, you're out of luck."

        "Not at all," he soothed. "But they treated you well?"

        "We beat each other up almost every day. But Gamora- Zehoberei- cared. She found me when I was getting worse and took me away before I reached a bad place."

        "She sounds like a good person."        

         _(Y/N)_ shook her head sadly. "None of us were good people. I've  _killed_ a lot of good people, Nick. So has she. You have to understand that.  _I am not hero material._ "

        "And I'm not looking for hero material. I'm looking for a  _hero, (Y/N)_. And you're a hero if I've ever seen one. You're going to have to trust me on this one."

        "I don't trust easily."

        "You might have to learn to."

❖ ❖ ❖

        The bridge was quiet for several hours, the only sound that of fingers clicking against computer keys and the occasional whispered command.  _(Y/N)_ obsessively checked every monitor in the room for notifications, trying to locate Clint with terrifyingly sad desperation.

        Natasha, Steve, and Bruce watched with varying levels of concern in their expressions. Natasha looked like she was about to start crying- which didn't happen often- if her friend didn't stop. Steve and Bruce, as usual, were trapped in perpetual states of confusion.

        Eventually, it got to be too much. During a particularly intense monitor-check in which  _(Y/N)_ looked like she was going to destroy the screen, the redhead jumped out of her seat and, gripping her by the shoulders, steered her out of the room.

        The bridge went back to a calmer state of being. The hallway did not.

         _"WHAT THE HELL, TASHA?!" (Y/N)_ screamed, whirling around to slam her against the wall. " _I'M TRYING TO FIND CLINT!"_

Natasha shook her head calmly and pushed  _(Y/N)_ 's hands away from her shoulders. "This isn't the way to do it,  _(Y/N)_. Looking at the computers every three minutes isn't going to do anything to help him. The most you can do is to let the techies do their job so that you can do yours. Do you understand?"

        " _No._ I  _don't_ understand. The way to find him is to  _look_ for him, and I plan to do just that until I  _find_ him."

        "You can't work yourself like that. It's not  _logical_."

        "This is how I do things, alright? This is the way it's always been and I plan to keep it that way. Don't interfere."

        Natasha watched sadly as, with one last venomous glare,  _(Y/N)_ shoved her shoulder and turned to head back into the bridge and continue her fruitless search.

❖ ❖ ❖

        Nick wasn't driving when they returned. In fact, he hadn't even been in the bridge for the majority of their argument. As soon as the women had left, he had taken his tablet into one of the back rooms, locked the door, and called up the World Security Council.

        Needless to say, they weren't exactly  _excited_ about his plan to assemble the Avengers.

        "Director, I think you need to explain what you're saying. Explicitly. We want to know exactly what your plan is and how you plan to carry it out so we can reach a decision."

        "The plan is simple and you already know it. You've known it for years now, and I don't need to waste precious time to argue with you about things that are under my jurisdiction," he said.

        Hawley, the only woman on the council, raised an eyebrow and spoke. "The council has made a decision."

        "I recognize that the council has made a decision, but given that it's a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to ignore it."

        "I don't think you understand what you're starting, letting the Avengers loose on this world. They're dangerous."

        "They're only dangerous if they aren't together."

        "You've managed to unite an experimental super-soldier who wasn't supposed to leave the lab, an ex-KGB spy with a past that you refuse to disclose, a man who, through untested experiments that were never authorized, managed to give himself an uncontrollable alter ego, a billionaire who has no understanding of the world outside of himself, a circus archer, and an alien with shady powers who you have absolutely no information on. That doesn't sound dangerous to you?"

        "Quite the contrary, actually," Nick countered. "It sounds  _very_ dangerous to me."

        "And you plan to unleash them on an unsuspecting people?"        

        "I plan for them to  _save_ an unsuspecting people. And I'm counting on them being dangerous, Miss Hawley. I just want them to be dangerous to someone else."

        "So your plan is to threaten your way to victory."

        "Exactly. I'm so glad you're able to understand."

        "That's not the way you win wars, Nick. Have you even  _tried_ diplomacy yet?"

        "I told the man to put his spear down before he skewered a dozen of my best agents if that's what you're asking."

        "Nick-"

        He cut Hawley off with a wave of his hand. "Miss Hawley, a wise friend of mine said that you don't win wars by being nice, you win them by whatever means necessary. And I'm tempted to agree with her. So-"

        The door opened with a click of the lock, swinging in to reveal Maria Hill with an Ipad in one hand and a pen in the other. Nick raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to one side and gesturing towards the security council members (who were looking extremely bemused).

        "I'm in the middle of a meeting, Hill. Can this wait?"

        "Sorry, sir, but I thought you'd want to know about this." She nodded towards her screen. "We've got a lock on Selvig and Loki. Your team is ready to ship out immediately, we just need authorization."

        Nick slammed his hand down on his tablet, effectively ending the call. "Send them out. Now."


	18. Chapter 18

         _(Y/N)_ sat in the back of the small quinjet, balancing her double-bladed knife on her index finger. Her improvised tactical suit- a pair of tight leather pants, combat boots, and a bomber jacket over one of Clint's 'aw, coffee, no' t-shirts (salvaged from his closet by a few extremely dedicated SHIELD agents)- was rumpled from a few stolen hours of sleep.

        With her dark eyeliner (it made her circles pop out more while simultaneously making her scarier than she actually was) and messy bun, she looked like a mix between a hitman and a college student. It was an interesting mix.

        Bruce had stayed back on the helicarrier in fear of losing control over the Hulk. At least that had been his excuse.  _(Y/N)_ could tell that at least  _half_ of the problem was that he didn't want to be in close proximity with her. 

        That was a wise choice.

         _(Y/N)_ didn't regret what she had done in Kolkata. Was it nice? No. Did she enjoy it? No. Was it necessary? Absolutely.

        According to Nick, Bruce Banner was an incredibly important facet of his plan to retrieve Clint and the Tesseract and to take Loki out of the equation. Something about his being 'the world's leading expert in gamma rays' and how, apparently, that was their best bet on how to track the Tesseract.

        Finding that damn cube was the last think on  _(Y/N)_ 's mind. She wanted Clint back, and that was it. After he was returned safely to her hands, she would be happy to bow out. But  _no,_ she worked for SHIELD. Fighting Loki and regaining the Tesseract was her 'job'.

        There was one benefit to pursuing Loki, though: finding out exactly what he had meant in the base.

         _You must admit that it's the wiser decision than surrendering to **him** is._

So Thanos knew where she was hiding. That wasn't surprising; he had eyes and ears all over the universe. No matter what, he would find her eventually. 

        That didn't explain why he hadn't already sent someone to retrieve  _(Y/N)_. Loki didn't seem like a mercenary, he seemed like an extension of power. Someone who would rule as Thanos' hand, take orders from him, and do whatever he wanted in exchange for a price. 

        Something was off.  _(Y/N)_ knew how Thanos operated, and if he wanted something, he took it. There was no payment. The father  _(Y/N)_ had always known would've put Loki in his grave if he even  _suggested_  something in return.

        All the more reason to bring him in and find out.

        The plane was quiet, its inhabitants avoiding each other like the plague. Up in the cockpit, Natasha hummed quietly under her breath and tapped a pair of scarlet-painted fingernails against the dashboard. Machinery hummed. The engine whirred.

        It was the literal definition of awkward silence, but  _(Y/N)_ didn't mind. Sometimes, everything needed to be quiet for things to make sense.

❖ ❖ ❖

        Earth was, now that Loki stepped back and considered it, oddly similar to Asgard. Of course, there were the instances in which it couldn't have been more different (apparently, drinking large amounts of alcohol in one sitting was frowned upon, which he didn't quite understand), but wasn't that true with most places in the universe?

        Yes. Decidedly true.

        Regarding similarities, the class division was  _certainly_ a recurring theme. Those who held the power were those who held the money and had political standing, just like on Asgard. 

        Loki would have to change that when he took charge. Abolishing the social castes and pulling those without money to the top of the system would be a good way to start off his reign on a good foot. That would make him popular among the majority. Of course, the top tier wouldn't be thrilled.

        Another thing that he noticed when he looked at the mortals was how incredibly unadvanced they were. It was almost impressive, the level that they were on technologically. Automobiles, fancy locking systems, cell phones... it all paled in comparison with the power Asgard held.

        Speaking of fancy locking systems...

        It didn't take long for the crowd at the gala to whip into an absolute frenzy. Mortals screamed and ran as Loki gripped the speaker by his arm and dragged him over to the stone table, throwing him down and stabbing his weapon into the man's eye. He writhed in pain, screaming and trying to get free, but Loki's strength rivaled his as the strength of a lion did a mouse. To put it simply, he didn't have a chance.

        With the press of a button, the device began to rotate rapidly, capturing a perfect image of Loki's captive's eye. Another press and said image was sent directly to where the captured archer- Barton, if he had heard correctly- was hopefully waiting.

        One second.

        Two seconds.

        Three seconds.

        A voice fizzed in over the communications.  _"I'm in."_

Loki nodded and dropped the man, casually jerking his scanner out of his eye socket before striding straight through the front door of the art museum into the crisp night air of... Berlin, was it? Yes, Berlin. Mortals chose such odd names for their cities.

        The crowd of people from the gala were all running around in front of the building like chickens without their heads. They pushed each other out of the way, trampled bystanders, screamed, and effectively did nothing to help their own cases. This was the way of mortals: helpless, stupid children in need of guidance. Earth  _needed_ Loki. It needed his leadership.

        He just had to make them realize it.

        With a flick of the scepter, several perfect copies of him shimmered into existence, clad in pointed helmets and green armor. The crowd shirked back in a desperate attempt to escape, but every time they tried to run in another direction, there was another Loki there to stop them.

        A small smile worked its way across his face. They looked so  _funny_ down there, running around in circles like they were actually  _getting_ somewhere.

        Loki had let this go on long enough. Time to stop.

        " _Kneel!"_

Everyone froze. Hundreds of pairs of wide, terrified eyes turned to face him, cowering back in case of a sudden attack. Nobody moved.

        " _I said kneel!"_

And then the second foot fell. One by one, people lowered themselves to their knees, bunching up dress skirts and scuffing the toes of their shoes in their haste to avoid punishment. When the last man knelt before him, Loki spoke.

        "Is this not simpler? Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will  _always kneel."_

        Silence. And then, in the center of the crowd, movement.

        An elderly man stood. His back hunched over with age and the struggle to force himself to his feet, but he did it nonetheless, staring at Loki with the baleful eyes of a kicked dog.

        "Not to men like you."

        The sound of people shuffling in their spots on the ground filled the square, but nobody followed the man's example.

        "There are no men like me."

        "There are _always_ men like you."

        Well. Maybe all humans weren't quite as submissive as he had been hoping. 

        Loki raised his scepter to chest height, pointing the glowing end straight at the man's head. The crowd fell silent, all staring at the confrontation with wide eyes.

        "Look to your elder, people. Let him be an example."

        The stone began to fire up, its glow becoming brighter and brighter. On its other end, the little man stared in fear, but- surprisingly- he didn't look away or attempt to fix things. He just... stood there.

        The beam was fired. It soared through the air, curving straight toward its victim's face, and... something  _blocked_ it. Something red, white, blue, and circular.

        Loki gulped.

        Steve Rogers stood, pushing the man back to safety and glaring at Loki with vehemence. "You know, the last time I was in Germany and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing."

        "The soldier," he sneered. "The man out of time."

        It was never too late for a recovery, right?

        "I'm not the one who's out of time."

        Oh. Maybe it  _was_ a little bit too late for a recovery. Oops.

        Loki raised his scepter again, firing blast after blast in Rogers' direction, trying to take the super soldier out of the equation. It was a useless attempt; every attack was evaded or blocked easily. 

        The other three 'Lokis' that were positioned around the square did nothing to assist their master, simply standing there with confused expressions on their faces as they watched him miss shots left and right. The people began to slip between them, getting up from their knees and running for their lives.

        It was then that another pair of figures entered the fray. The first was easily recognizable-  _(Y/N)_ Taeven from the underground base and, before that, the Sanctuary II. She didn't look thrilled to see him (the sword in her hand and the annoyed expression on her face was enough to clear that up), and made it all the more obvious by raising her middle finger to the sky in his direction.

        The other was just as easy to identify, although Loki had never met him. The gaudy metal suit, bright red and gold, was hard to miss in a crowd. Tony Stark, Iron Man.

        The music that suddenly blasted into the square was just as hard to miss.

        Taeven wrinkled her nose and turned to glare at Stark, raising her eyebrows and shifting her weight onto one leg to adopt a more casual stance.

        "What is that?"

        "Not me!" A voice echoed out of a pair of speakers. Natasha Romanoff.

        Loki looked up and watched as a quinjet drifted over the buildings, training its guns on the street- and, more specifically, him. 

        "It's  _music._ And that's your surrender," Stark said, his voice metallic as it resonated through his suit. "Make a move, reindeer games."

        A smirk. Then, "I'm afraid I won't be surrendering to you any time soon, Metal Man. Kings don't bow to commoners. You should know this."

        "Earth doesn't have a king, so there's no need for you to even be here right now. So if you could return our agents and the Tesseract and get the hell off of our planet, we would be  _forever_ grateful."

        "You'll be grateful when that changes, Stark. Earth needs to be ruled."

         _(Y/N)_ wrinkled her nose and took a step forward, her mouth curving into an unamused smile. The sword at her side swung up and into a neat arc, curving over her head repeatedly until it looked like there was a dark halo in front of her face.

        "That's too bad because Earth isn't interested in any new rulers. Apparently, they're very happy with the way things are right now, so you're no longer needed. Feel free to go back and die in whatever hole you crawled out of."

        " _Savage,"_ Stark said. Loki couldn't see his face, but from the sound of his voice, he seemed to approve of whatever that meant. In his experience, the term 'savage' meant something very different from how  _(Y/N)_ had used it.

        Mortals were odd, and apparently, those who hung around them tended to take on that oddness.

        "It has taken you very little time to adopt the humans' customs, darling. Just goes to show how quickly one can revert to her more primitive state," he said calmly. "Interesting."

        "You're fighting to take over a planet that you consider beneath you, and you consider  _me_ primitive. I smell a hypocrite. I also smell your imminent defeat."

        Loki furrowed his brow at  _(Y/N)_ 's blatant declaration of war. Yes, this was a battle, but it was more of a battle of  _wits,_ wasn't it? Those were  _definitely_ the vibes he had been getting.

        The whine of a repulsor firing up interrupted the otherwise tense night, and Loki was knocked straight off of his feet and a set of concrete stairs. Ribs groaned with the sudden impact, and his head dropped back onto the cold stone.

        The scepter dropped to the ground.

        "Smart move."

❖ ❖ ❖

        If the first part of the plane ride had been awkward, there wasn't even a  _term_ for how awkward the ride  _back_ to the helicarrier was. Maybe it was the presence of yet another self-proclaimed 'hero'- Tony had decided to join them instead of just using his suit. Maybe it was the hostile aura that surrounded  _(Y/N)_ , residual from the fight, or Natasha's unnerving silence in the pilot's seat, or the show of righteous anger and patriotism from Steve. Or maybe it was the supervillain sitting in one of the side seats with his cuffed hands in his lap.

         _(Y/N),_ perched on the arm of the co-pilot's seat with her hand resting protectively on the hilt of the scepter, twisted around for the fifth time in ten minutes to give Loki an angry glare. He just stared back at her, one eyebrow quirked. The look on his face couldn't have been described as anything other than provocative.

        Turning back to Natasha, she said, "I think he's trying to make me angry."

        "I wouldn't be surprised," Natasha replied with a grin. "He's trying to make all of us angry."

        "Look at his smarmy little face. I wanna shave his eyebrows off."

        "That's a very specific threat."

        "I make a lot of those." A pause. Then, "He's still got Clint."

        "Yes."

        "And our agents weren't able to track them down?"

        "Not since you last asked."

        "He won't say anything."

        "No. Quiet and stubborn as a rock."

        "I don't-"

         _(Y/N)_ 's statement was cut off by a loud clap of thunder, emanating down from the heavens to surround their small jet. In the back, Loki jumped.

        Steve stared at him. "What, are you scared of a little thunder?"

        "I'm not overly fond of what follows."

        Another clap. Then, something slammed straight into the top of the quinjet, shaking its occupants and knocking  _(Y/N)_ off of the arm and into the chair with an undignified squeak.

        The loading door of the vessel was forced open by what looked like a man wearing leather leggings, kneepads, and... was that a  _cape?_

        Yes. That was  _definitely_ a cape.

        In a split second, Cape-man had grabbed Loki by the collar and vaulted right out of the open door of a  _moving_ jet and into the stormy sky, leaving behind a team of incredibly confused- and slightly windswept- people.

        It took a few seconds for the events to fully register with each passenger.  _(Y/N)_ was the first one to react, righting herself and hopping over the headrest with her weapons in tow. She jogged over to the quinjet's exit, peering over the edge before shrugging and turning around to address Natasha.

        "Tasha, keep moving. I'll catch up."

        " _(Y/N)-"_

"Just get to the helicarrier with the scepter. Then come back for us," she ordered. "Yes?"

        Natasha sighed. "Will do."

        "Sorry, you're planning to do what?" Tony asked, his visor already up and ready. "Last I checked, you don't have a parachute or a suit."

         _(Y/N)_ shrugged. "I've done dumber things. See you suckers on the flipside."

        And with that, she jumped out of the open mouth and tucked her body into a neat cannonball, her screams of happiness fading away as she disappeared into the clouds.

        "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

        "Nope!" Natasha shouted over the wind, hands white-knuckling around the controls. "She does that sometimes. You'll get used to it."

        Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed a parachute from the supply area, already muttering under his breath about stupid risks and unnecessary recklessness. Tony fired up the thrusters on his suit and followed  _(Y/N)_ out of the quinjet, blasting off like a rocket and fading from view.

        "Cap, I'd sit this one out if I was you!" Natasha said. " _(Y/N)_ and Stark can handle it. Those guys, they're practically gods!"

        "There's only one god, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure He doesn't dress like that."

        Another quick exit and she closed the door with the press of a button. "The things I deal with for Fury..."

❖ ❖ ❖

        When _(Y/N)_ reached the ground, throwing her hands out and manipulating the air around her to slow her fall, everything was dark. The only way she could see anything was with the glowing circles on her temples, which were radiating an incredibly bright red that cast a ghostly glow on the trees around her. It was a forest, clearly, with no settlements as far as the eye could see. No civilians to get caught in the crossfire.

        Good.

        With Starkiller in her hand,  _(Y/N)_ started to slip between the trees in search of Loki and what seemed to be his abductor. Cape-man. 

        Stars, this just kept getting weirder and weirder.

        Her heart leaped as the hum of an engine working overtime filled the forest and Tony slammed into the ground, leaves and twigs crunching under the weight of his suit.  _(Y/N)_ jumped slightly and turned around to glare at him- something she had been doing an awful lot lately.

        "Sorry, do you know what  _stealth_ means?" She asked indignantly. "Because that's not it."

        "You might not have noticed, but this isn't exactly a stealth suit, lightbulb. It's going to be loud."

        "Make it  _quiet._ I don't have time to babysit for a kid wearing a trash can."

        Tony squawked indignantly. "This is a  _sophisticated_ piece of engineering, not a trash can! And I'm not a-"

        "Yeah, yeah, whatev-"

        The hairs on the back of  _(Y/N)_ 's neck stood up on end and she bristled, looking around nervously. Something had just filled the air, something dark and dangerous and faintly  _electric._

        There was barely enough time to react. She screamed, " _DUCK!"_ and threw herself to the ground, covering her head to avoid the burst of lightning that arced over her head and slammed into the tree behind her, sending it crashing to the ground. Tony whirled around and brought an arm up, firing three strong blasts from his repulsor and forcing Cape-man, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, away.

         _(Y/N)_ looked up from her spot on the ground as ash fell into her hair and trickled around her in streams. The blond giant and Tony had begun an impromptu dance-fight sort of thing, ducking and weaving around each other in a way that men their sizes shouldn't have been able to do.

        With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet and jogged into the fray, already raising her sword above her head and preparing to bring it straight down on her opponent's... hammer.

        Hammer.

         _Hammer._

Oh. 


	19. Chapter 19

        "Uh-oh,"  _(Y/N)_ murmured, staring at the now-identified Cape-man with wide eyes. Thor, apparent 'god of thunder' and Asgardian prince, stood stock-still with his hammer held high, ready to bring down another blast of lightning and obliterate everything within a mile-wide radius.

        "Uh-oh?" Tony echoed. "You know this joker?"

        Thor said, "This is beyond you, Stark. You have no idea what you're dealing with here. Your female companion seems to understand the stakes."

        "Shakespeare in the park? Doth mother know you weareth her drapes?"

         _(Y/N)_ groaned and rolled her eyes, shaking her head. " _Men._ Listen, Thor? Buddy? Hand over your brother and we can be on our way, alright? We don't need to have a fight here."

        "Loki will face Asgardian justice."

        "He gives up the cube, he's all yours. Until then, stay out of my way...  _tourist._ "

        "Oh my  _stars,_ Stark, is this honestly necessary?"

        Tony shrugged and turned to walk away. "He took my stuff."

        Thor, obviously finished with the argument and ready to move along in the only way that male fighters seemed to be able to fathom, gripped his hammer by the strap and started to whirl it around his wrist. With a flick of his hand, he released it and it went flying straight into Tony's back, knocking him off of his feet and into a tree.

        "Well now you've made him  _mad,"_ she griped, yanking a strand of hair out of her face. "What did that tree ever do to you?"

        Tony, still stunned and trapped under Mjolnir, shifted one hand and tried to push himself to his feet.  _(Y/N)_ walked over to the remains of the tree and leaned down. She gave the hammer a cursory look but didn't bother to touch it, instead lifting a hand and swirling her fingers in a spiraling motion. One by one the wooden splinters that had managed to get stuck between the plates of the Iron Man suit removed themselves and fell to the ground, joining the rest of the matchsticks and leaving the suit as good as new (save for a few scratches and dings in the paint).

         _"Okay,"_ Tony growled from his spot on the ground.

        Thor opened his fist. Mjolnir flew back to him, whistling through the air, and  _(Y/N)_  barely had time to scramble out of the way before Tony had blasted off of the ground and into the air. The two men faced off and ozone filled the air.

         _Dammit._

        The latter was the first to move. He fired a blast of energy into Thor's chest with one of his hand repulsors, knocking him back and, ironically, into a tree.

        "Could you  _not?" (Y/N)_ asked. She reached up and rubbed her temples with her free hand. "Maybe we could just talk this out and not level part of a forest that doesn't belong to us?"

        As usual, she was ignored. With a loud roar, Thor threw Mjolnir up into the air and brought another strong bolt of lightning down, which slammed into Tony's chest and sent him staggering back. Every nerve in her body prickled as if it had been hooked up to a live wire from the added energy in the air surrounding the trio, and  _(Y/N)_ decided that this had gone on long enough.

        Moving quickly and suddenly, she threw herself between the two combatants and held out a palm in each man's direction, spreading her fingers wide and forcing a burst of mental energy towards them.  _(Y/N)_ reached out with her mind and took total control of their physical movements, locking them down like she had done to Bruce and making it quite impossible for both of them to move. 

        The Iron Man suit was a bit more difficult to take control of. The inside of its helmet seemed to have a force inside of it, almost a presence controlling its functions and movements. The problem was that the force wasn't living- or didn't seem to be- so it didn't have a consciousness to take over. But, nevertheless, with a bit of extra energy forced into its wiring, the suit was forced to comply and stand still.

        Thor, frozen in midair with nothing moving except for his eyes and mouth, cursed.

        "Witch! Release my mind!"

        "No can do, blondie,"  _(Y/N)_ sassed. "If you and Iron-ass over here don't play nice, we're going to be standing here for a very long time."

        "See, normally I would try to fight this," Tony said, "but I can't move and the scary lady says not to. And, in my experience, you always listen to the scary lady. Especially if she has head powers. So I'm just going to... stand here. Yes."

        "Brilliant idea. Please do."

        Thor, however, didn't seem to be quite as pliable as Tony was. He immediately started to writhe in  _(Y/N)_ 's grasp, gritting his teeth and clenching his muscles up to try and shake her. A sharp pain burst through her brain, then another, then another, and for the first time in her entire life...  _(Y/N)_ was having to fight to keep control.

        "You okay over there, firefly?" Tony's voice didn't convey a hint of concern. She wasn't surprised; he didn't seem like the sort to care about potential allies. Self-absorbed, rich, powerful... yeah, she knew his type.

         _(Y/N)_ forced her control over Thor once more, trying to close any gaps he might have opened and form a secure shield around him to keep him still and avoid conflict, but it seemed that one opportunity was all he had needed. With a shout, the connection in his mind shattered and he broke free, sending  _(Y/N)_ sprawling and simultaneously freeing Tony.

        Once again, Tony and Thor faced each other and prepared to attack and finish their opponent for good. The hum of arc reactors and lightning filled the air and  _(Y/N)_ gritted her teeth. She gripped Starkiller, ready to push herself out of the way so she didn't get fried in the crossfire, and...

        A large, multicolored disk flew out of nowhere, ricocheted off of Tony's chest, slammed into Thor's stomach, and returned to its rightful owner.

        Steve stepped out from behind a fallen tree, uprooted during the conflict, and tossed his shield like it was a frisbee and he was about to go to the beach and play with some of his friends.  _(Y/N)_ breathed a sigh of relief, dropping any trace of control that she might have had and stepping back.

        "I don't know what you plan on doing here," Steve said, staring at Thor. 

        "I've come to put an end to Loki's schemes, and your metal man and witch are making it hard to do so!"

         _(Y/N)_ narrowed her eyes. "Listen here,  _buddy,_ watch who you call-"

        Steve stepped in before the fight could escalate again, jumping between  _(Y/N)_ and Thor and sending an understanding look over his shoulder. " _Hey!_ How about we just put the weapons down and talk it out?"

        "Yeah," Tony called, "don't do that! He loves his hammer!"

        Apparently so, because faster than he could blink, Thor had slammed Mjolnir right across his face and sent him flying into a tree for the second time in less than ten minutes.

        "You want me to put the hammer down?!"

         _(Y/N)_ slapped a hand over her forehead. "I'm dealing with a bunch of morons."

        With another roar (Thor seemed to be partial to roaring and shouting, come to think of it), he jumped straight up into the air, every muscle in his legs and arms tense as Mjolnir rose higher, higher, higher.

         _(Y/N)_ rolled forward, bringing her sword up and preparing to intercept the hammer with its blade to try and halve some of the damage. Steve, crouched beside her, covered his head with his shield and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her behind it and placing a large hand over her head.

        Mjolnir came down, landing solidly in the middle of the shield and rebounding with the sound of a tolling bell. A shockwave of light and force spread out from its epicenter, prompting  _(Y/N)_ to duck further into Steve's embrace.

        Silence. Starkiller fell to the ground, smoking but unbroken, three feet away from where  _(Y/N)_ and Steve crouched. Tony stood warily, his faceplate down, eyeing the detritus on the ground.

        "Are we done here?"

❖ ❖ ❖

        The tension in the air was palpable throughout the entire helicarrier, tangible in every nook and cranny. The techs were more nervous than usual, security had been tightened so that clearance was required to get into almost every room, and almost everyone was completely silent.

        After all, it wasn't every day that a supervillain was locked in one of the wings of one's floating ship. The threat of Loki's escape hung like a cloud over the entire crews' heads. If he got out, there was no escape. They were  _literally_ over two hundred feet away from the ground, and that  _ground_ wasn't even ground, but ocean. There was no possibility of survival, and if it came down to a fight, there would be casualties.

         _(Y/N)_ sat in the briefing room, watching the monitor with narrow eyes as Nick secured Loki in his container and locked the door, murmuring a few words before turning and leaving. The sound was fuzzy and unstable- not a great quality for such a high-tech facility, but nothing more than she had expected. Earth was advanced, but they were still in the development stage of their growth and definitely had room to improve.

        "Do you know what they're saying?" Steve asked. He had positioned himself across from  _(Y/N)_ at the round table, both forearms resting on the table as he watched carefully. 

        "Not a word."

        "He does grow on you, though," Bruce said. "As much as maniacs can."

        "As much as maniacs can."

        Steve placed his chin on his hands. "Loki's going to drag this one out. You know him the best out of all of us, Thor. Your brother. What's his play?"

        Thor, who had been standing beside one of the walls with his face turned away, sniffed. "He has an army. An  _alien_ army."

        "Watch your words," Shegrowled.

        "They're called the Chitauri, and they're not of Asgard or any world known. He means to lead them against the people of Earth. They will win him your home in return for, I suspect, the Tesseract."

         _(Y/N)_ blinked once, twice, and felt the blood drain from her hands and face. 

         _Chitauri._

_Chitauri._

_Chitauri._

_**Thanos.** _

So this was it. This was his ploy, his next step to the endgame. This was Thanos' plot, and it was finally going into effect.  _(Y/N)_ remembered listening repeatedly to his monologuing when she was a younger child, hearing how he planned to make a world reborn.

        How he planned to use a group of ancient talismans to do it.

        Infinity stones.

        Flashes of blood and screaming jolted through her mind in fast motion, clips of a movie that only she had ever seen and planned to keep secret: one of her former neighbors screaming for her to hide, to run, for her mother to take her somewhere safe and escape before falling with a smoking hole in her chest. Her father fighting to keep the door closed, gasping and turning around with the tip of a spear protruding from his stomach, his blood splattering all over a six-year-old  _(Y/N)_ 's face. Shrapnel spraying across the square and scraping across her cheek.

        Cristal Taeven, her beloved mother, crying as she reached for her little girl.

        "If the Chitauri are who we face,"  _(Y/N)_ said, "the fight is hopeless. The best thing for you to do is to surrender before there's any bloodshed and avoid any civilian deaths."

        Natasha frowned. " _(Y/N)_ , we've already lost civilians to Loki. We have to fight him if we want to save the majority."

        "The majority  _will_ die. You have to sacrifice your pride and make the right decision."

        "We're not about to  _give everything up_ to appease a madman. They did that with Hitler before World War Two, and we saw how  _that_ worked out."

        "Actually,  _we_ didn't," she snapped. " _You_ did. Listen, the people of Earth know their own history, and that's great. Congratulations. I, however,  _don't_ know your history. I do know my own, and I plan to protect your future with whatever means possible."

        "I've got a bone to pick with you." Bruce fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt. "If nobody knows where the Chitauri came from, how do you have so much information on them? Even _Thor_ doesn't, and he's from  _space."_

"Thor is from a different  _part_ of space, my dear Banner, and therefore doesn't know about the parts of space that  _I_ know about. I'm SHIELD's official interplanetary liaison, which means I inform them about this sort of stuff and make sure your planet isn't destroyed in the middle of some sort of war between Skrulls and Krees or whatever. I'm doing my job."

        "Then why do I feel like you're not telling us everything?"

         _(Y/N)_ rolled her eyes. The tension in the room skyrocketed. "Probably because I'm not. Nobody in this room should even pretend to know everything about the others, and I get that you're singling me out because I messed with your head, but you're going to need to look past that. We have more important things to deal with. Like the imminent invasion."

        Bruce nodded, turned around, and went back to fiddling around with the scepter. It was obvious that he wasn't interested in a conversation (or an argument, judging from the heated glares and angry words), so  _(Y/N)_ left him alone.

        Natasha was the next to speak. " _(Y/N)_ , I know that you're not comfortable with talking about your home and history, but if this has something to do with  _my_ home and  _my_ history, as well as  _our_ future, I'm going to need you to explain some of this."

         _(Y/N)_ scowled. Out of all of her new teammates, she would have thought that Natasha would've been the first to understand. "Natasha, I can't do that. You don't want to know about the things that have happened in my past or the things that may happen in the future because of it. Don't you trust me?"

        "You  _know_ I trust you. I just need to know. I need to protect our people."

        "Your people," She corrected. "And all you need to know about the Chitauri is that they kill without mercy and leave no survivors, and if they make it to Earth, you will have two choices: surrender or die. I've seen what they do, seen them leave entire civilizations devastated. Firsthand. And I know that they'll do it again."

        The chair she was sitting in screeched unpleasantly against the metal floor as she pushed it away, standing assertively. With one last sweep of the room, her cold glare landing on each of the inhabitants and making sure they knew that it  _wasn't over,_ _(Y/N)_ , turned and strode out without so much as a good-bye.

❖ ❖ ❖

        As soon as the door swung out,  _(Y/N)_ was met with Nick's stone-cold, unimpressed stare. He raised an eyebrow- the one that was still intact, that is- at her vehement gaze, closed the door with his foot, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

        "We need to talk, Taeven. Now."

         _(Y/N)_ allowed herself to calm down and nodded. "Go ahead. Is this serious? Did Loki do something?"

        "This has nothing to do with Loki. It does, however, have quite a bit to do with you. I don't think you're going to be happy about it."

        "Well, now you've got me hooked. Go ahead." She grinned. "Hit me with your best shot."

        Fury groaned. "You know that SHIELD has been actively searching for the young man who you claim was in the spaceship with you when you crashed, right?"

        "Ollie, and yes. I appreciate it."

        "We've realized that our resources are too thinly stretched right now, what with the ongoing war with Loki and our sudden presence in the universe. We've been sending out teams to protect the citizens and try to pull everything back under control, but we just can't pull it together with what we've got."

        "Nick, I'm doing my best. There's only so much that you've given me to work with."

        "I know. You're an incredibly valuable asset to SHIELD, and we understand how important this man is to you. But, in lieu of the recent developments regarding other... people like you..."

        "Extraterrestrials,"  _(Y/N)_ supplied.

        "Yes, extraterrestrials. Well... we've had to call off our search for Ollie Ziu. He's been declared dead by our boards. I wish I could fight this, but... well, the council has made their decision. Everything we have has to go towards fighting Loki."

         _No._

"You can't  _do_ that, Nick! Ollie has two brothers and a little sister, and his dad made him promise that he would come back, and you can't just  _abandon_ him like that! I have to get him home!"

         _(Y/N)_ , you have to consider the position I'm in right now," Nick stated calmly. "I'm the director of a security organization that isn't doing its job. If I fail, we could lose  _lives._ Human lives, the lives of _children._ I don't want to leave your friend to the wolves, but I have to do what's right for the people I've grown up with, and that group doesn't encompass you or Ollie. My first priority is my family, friends, and employees. You're my partner."

        " _Nick, I-"_

"I'm sorry, Taeven. I really am. But there's nothing I can do."


	20. Chapter 20

         _(Y/N)_ stormed into the briefing room only minutes after she had left, to the occupants' dismay and surprise. Her mood seemed to have declined rapidly, moving from "I'm angry" to "I could kill you with a smile on my face". And, considering how her mood tended to be abysmal even on  _good_ days, something bad had to have happened to have pushed her down so far.

        Natasha, the only person who actually knew her well enough to understand whatever had happened (other than Clint, of course), winced and pushed her chair away from the table. She strode over to  _(Y/N)_ , prepared to intercept any attempts at murder, and was roughly pushed aside.  _(Y/N)_ cut her eyes angrily and continued her death walk over to where Tony had just taken his seat.

        "Stark."

        "Taeven." He shifted around in his seat, staring up at the young woman with narrowed eyes and a concerned expression. "What can I do for you?"

         _(Y/N)_ took a deep breath. "I need your help. Immediately."

        "I'm not impressed by your manners."

        "Well, guess what? I don't give a  _damn_ whether or not you're..." She trailed off, her head drooping down so far that her chin practically touched her chest. Tony raised his eyebrows at her sudden change of character and stood.

        "How do we ask?" He prompted, his voice soft and patient as if he was talking to a small child.

         _(Y/N)_ rolled her eyes and smacked his bicep. " _Please._ Please help me. Now."

        "Still not impressed-"

         _"Stars!_ Just  _come on_ , this is more important than your ego!"

        And with that, she reached out and grabbed Tony by the arm, whirling around and dragging him away. Tony sent a panicked look over his shoulder in Bruce's direction, who just shrugged and went back to prodding the scepter with one of his tools. Natasha and Steve glanced at each other, wordless questions going in both directions, before going back to their individual projects.

         _(Y/N)_ marched Tony all the way from the briefing room to an empty lab that had to be on the other side of the helicarrier entirely. He struggled the entire way, scratching at her hand and trying to persuade her to let go with a mix of threats and pleading, but nothing worked. She seemed to be dead set on getting him to do what she needed. Tony insisted to himself that the only reason he couldn't break free was that he was tired from the fight.

        No, a twenty-something year old  _kid_ wasn't stronger than him. That was inconceivable. 

        With one last yank of Tony's arm,  _(Y/N)_ opened the door to a dark lab and pulled him inside. The empty  _clunk_ of a deadbolt locking from the inside echoed throughout an empty space, and shivers ran down his spine.

        "You know, if you wanted to get me alone, you could've just asked."

        "Don't be vulgar. This has nothing to do with anything like that,"  _(Y/N)_ scoffed. She flicked the switch, and lights immediately flickered into power throughout the room. "I need help finding something, and you seem to be the best man for the job."

        "If it has anything to do with bio-science, you should talk to Banner. He knows that stuff better than me; I work in the field of technology."

        "And I work in the field of killing. It doesn't matter, and besides... Banner probably wouldn't help me."  _(Y/N)_ shrugged. "Apparently, some people don't like it when I take over their minds and make them do what I want them to."

        "Who would've thunk it?" Tony asked dryly. "Okay, so you need help with something techy. Explain, and I'll see what I can do."

        She breathed a sigh of relief, sitting down on one of the empty metal tables and placing one foot on the sleek material like a brace. "Thank you. Thank you  _so much."_

        "No problem. Now, this problem...?"

        "Right. So, I'm not from Earth. Obviously."  _(Y/N)_ pointed at her left temples and caused her circles to flare up with a deep blue. "I mean,  _look_ at me. I was born really far away from here, but some stuff happened and I had to leave my home when I was very young."

        "You  _are_ very young. I mean, you're what, twenty-three?"

        "Twenty-one, actually. I was six when I had to leave. I moved around for the next decade or so, doing some stuff that I'm not exactly proud of, before I finally got up the courage to take control of my own life and do what I needed to do. I packed up my stuff and went to a planet called Hala, did a few more bad things, and met this family.

        "They changed everything. A little girl, twin boys, an adopted son, and the dad. They sort of welcomed me into their family unit and helped me out of another dark place. I was still a teenager then, so I didn't know enough to take care of myself, but they got me back onto my feet.

        "Something happened last year, and I got into a fight. I had to leave Hala. The adopted son- Ollie Ziu- was supposed to take me to his family's ship and get me off of the planet. His father told me that I had to get him back to them. He wasn't... he wasn't supposed to  _leave_ with me."  _(Y/N)_ choked. "But he did. He drove the ship straight off of Hala to keep me safe. Somewhere along the way, we took a hit and crash landed here. I got hurt, knocked unconscious for most of the accident. Some stuff got messed up.

        "Tasha and Clint found me and dragged me out of the wreck, but they didn't find Ollie. Nick's been looking for him for eight months now, sending out agents to help, but with this Loki situation..."

        "Fury's called off the search," Tony guessed, "and you need my help to look for him. That's why you didn't go to Banner. You knew he wouldn't be sympathetic."

         _(Y/N)_ sniffed. "I did some bad things to him when Nick sent me to recruit him. It probably wasn't necessary, but... I was so  _angry._  I took it out on him, and I never apologized. Tasha's loyal to a fault, so she won't help me, and Clint's missing. You're my last option, Stark."

        She went quiet, one hand fiddling with the buttons on her jacket as she waited for an answer. All around the duo, machinery hummed and whirred. Agents in the hallway laughed and conversed happily, oblivious to the absolute _trainwreck_ that was happening in the lab.

        "Alright, so this 'Ollie Ziu' was adopted. I'm going to need a complete description of his physical features and origin. D'you think you could tell me where he's from?"

         _(Y/N)_ 's jaw dropped. She stared at Tony, eyes wide, completely speechless. 

        "Well? If I don't know what he looks like or where I should look for him, I can't  _find_ him. Come on, firefly, chop-chop. I've got things to do."

        No answer. Tony frowned, pursed his lips, and walked up to a completely unresponsive  _(Y/N)_.

        "You okay?"

        "I- I didn't think you'd actually say  _yes!"_ She stammered, looking at him as if he was a complete godsend. "You're not kidding?!"

        "Of course not. I never joke about important things, kiddo. Now, come on. Let's get down to work, shall we?"

❖ ❖ ❖

        Three hours later, and the door to the lab still hadn't opened. Steve and Natasha had been loitering outside for what seemed like an eternity, knocking on the door and trying everything short of shooting the lock to get inside, but it wouldn't budge.  _(Y/N)_ or Tony would look up occasionally, grin and wave, and then go straight back to whatever they were doing without so much as a second glance.

        They were lying in what looked like a bed of papers and pencils, each one holding a clipboard.  _(Y/N)_ , who held what looked like a  _Geography and People Groups of the World_ book in her hand and a clipboard in the other, bit her lip as she alternated between the book and paper, jotting down notes in both objects and murmuring unintelligibly under her breath.

        Tony, on the other hand, was sprawled out on top of the table with a computer sitting in his lap. The camera extension emitted a blue light that, every once in a while, morphed into different shapes or disappeared altogether. Every time he typed something in, it changed to take on a rough caricature of the head and shoulders of a person.

        Nobody understood what they were doing, and nobody could get in. Not even Nick, when he was alerted of the possible issue, was able to override the lock and force the door open.  _(Y/N),_ glancing up when he swiped his key card in the slot and was denied entrance, thumbed her nose and grinned before going back to her work.

        Inside the room, a constant soundtrack of what sounded like cats yowling was blaring over the speakers. Tony had insisted on listening to his 'music' if he was going to help, and  _(Y/N)_ hadn't bothered to argue with him. After all, where else was she going to get help? If the man wanted to listen to nails on a chalkboard, nails on a chalkboard was what he would get.

        Of course, according to Tony, it was art.

         _(Y/N)_ knew what art was, and there was a big difference between  _art_ and  _claw my ears out already._

"Does this look right?" Tony shouted, one finger plugging his ear so he could hear the words coming out of his mouth.  _(Y/N)_ twisted around to look at his work- the fruit of three hours of hard work- and the air was knocked out of her chest.

        The hologram was a perfect copy of Ollie's head. From the angular set of his dark eyes to the perfectly-trimmed haircut that framed his face, it was Ollie through-and-through.

         _(Y/N)_ stood from her seat among the papers and walked over to where Tony sat, tilting her head to one side and carefully inspecting every detail of his creation, looking for flaws. But even after tilting it every which way and turning it upside-down with a few typed commands, there was nothing to be found. 

        "It's...  _perfect._  Stars, Stark, it looks just like him."

        "Great," Tony sighed. "I was a little worried when you said that you didn't have any pictures of him. 3-D rendering is hard when you don't have a reference, but you seemed to remember him pretty well. I'm impressed."

        "Don't be. This was all you. Thank you so much."

        "Ah, no problem. I still can't guarantee that I'll be able to find him, seeing as there are over seven billion people on this planet and there's still a chance that he didn't survive the crash, but this was the first step."

        "I know."

        "And it might take a while. Like, a few years."

        "I know. I'm patient."

        "You didn't seem that patient when you dragged me halfway across the helicarrier and locked me in a lab." Tony powered his computer down after saving the hologram and hopped off of the table. "But, you know, let bygones be bygones."

        "Right. Ah..."  _(Y/N)_ blushed. "Sorry about that."

        "Don't worry about it. I'll upload it to the search matrix as soon as I can and start scanning cameras to see if I can find him. We'll start in Japan, by the way, because from his facial features, I think that's where he's from. You're sure he's human?"

        "Completely. There were a few Terrans out there, and he was one of them. Adopted, but still one of them."

        "Great. I'll update you if I find anything, okay?"

        "Yeah."  _(Y/N)_ gave Tony's computer one last look, longing clear in her eyes, before pursing her lips in an imitation of a small smile. "Thank you, Tony. I really appreciate this."

        "I know," Tony said with a grin. "There was no better men for the job."

❖ ❖ ❖

        "So you went to Stark."

        "Of course I did,"  _(Y/N)_ murmured. She glared at Nick. "It's not like you were going to help. Not like I needed you, anyway. I can find him by myself."

        "Obviously not, seeing as you decided to bring your problems to an eccentric, egotistical, dangerous billionaire."

        Nick straightened the lapels of his jacket and spun around in his chair. The one eye that he still possessed swept over  _(Y/N)_ 's tense stature as she stared at him, clearly unimpressed and angry.

        "You hired him, you brought him into this. Don't blame me for making an executive decision."

        "You're taking risks that don't need to be taken."

        "My friend is out there!" She shouted, slamming one hand down on a table with so much force that the computers on it rattled. Every eye in the bridge turned to the arguing agents, but they took no notice of their audience. "He's  _out there_ , and I'm going to find him. With or without your help, and with or without your permission. You aren't my superior anymore, need I remind you."

        "But you still work for SHIELD, and that comes with strings attached." 

        "I work for SHIELD because I'd be locked up in some sort of experimental facility otherwise."  _(Y/N)_  pulled out her switch and started to nervously twirl it between her index, middle, and pointer fingers. "Your 'Avengers Initiative' means nothing to me if I can't find Ollie. He's my priority."

        Nick stood and stared down at her, and the tension in the air rocketed up to a point where a few of the watching agents actually stood and left. Over by the door, three people entered, oblivious to the situation they were getting themselves into: Steve, Tony, and Bruce.

        "Your priority just changed," Nick said quietly. 

        "I'm not your subordinate! You can't order me around like I'm a child, because I'm  _not._ I could leave right now if I wanted to, and I think you know that there's nothing you could do to stop me,"  _(Y/N)_ said. The knife in her hand twirled faster. "I could bring this flying junkheap to the ground. I could throw you out of that window without touching you. There is  _no_ limit to what I could do,  _Nick."_

        "Are you threatening me?"

        " _Yes."_

Tony made a face at Steve and turned around, slipping out of the room and closing the door quietly behind himself. Steve furrowed his brow, eyeing the two arguing agents nervously. One hand crept to the back of his suit, ready to grab his shield if it looked like a fight was about to break out. Bruce, eyes narrowed, crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at  _(Y/N)_.

        "That's not a good idea, Taeven. I think you know that."

        Nick raised a hand, reaching back to an object on his desk, and  _(Y/N)_ 's heart skipped a beat. Eyes wide, she did exactly what she had done every time a hand had been raised against her in the Sanctuary II. Something she had promised herself that she would never do again.

         _(Y/N)_ flinched. She stumbled back and bumped into one of the tables, bracing herself with white knuckles and a clenched jaw, prepared to take a hit.

         _"You've failed me, daughter. Time and time again, you fail me."_

_"Father, I-"_

_"Did you honestly think that I wouldn't find out about your little detour? Everyone who worked at that little store is now dead, and it's all thanks to you. Well done, little warrior. Aren't you **proud**_ _of yourself?"_

"...gent. Agent! Taeven, can you hear me? Can you hear me? You're on the helicarrier, in the bridge. We were arguing, but it's okay, we aren't anymore. Taeven?"

         _Nick._

 _(Y/N)_ forced her eyes open, wincing at the bright lights that met her. Something was poking her in the back. A pair of warm hands held her face, rubbing her jaw comfortingly. Another pulled her up to a sitting position.

        Had she fallen?

        "Taeven, can you hear me? Are you in there? It's Steve. Come on, come  _on,_ wake up already!"

        " _I... I'm awake,"_ she muttered, reaching up to slap the hands off of her skin.  _(Y/N)_ rolled over so that she was on her hands and knees, using the edge of the table- that was what had been poking her- to stand. She grabbed her switch from where it had fallen. "I'm  _fine."_

 _"(Y/N)_ -"

        "Don't touch me. I'm fine."

        Nick and Steve stared at her from where they were crouched, the former holding a glass of water in his hand and eyeing her like she was a bomb that was about to blow up.  _(Y/N)_ returned his gaze vehemently.

        "I was reaching to grab a tablet,  _(Y/N)_ ," Nick said quietly. "I promise. I wouldn't hit you."

        Steve nodded. "He's telling the truth, I saw it. Are... are you okay?"

        _"I said I was fine._ Just... leave me alone."

❖ ❖ ❖

        Natasha marched into the bridge with the expression of an irate mother on her face, her heeled boots clicking rhythmically against the floor. She made a beeline straight for Nick and Steve, who were both going over a set of numbers together at the main desk. With one quick, fluid movement, she spun Nick around and pinned him against the wall.

        "I want to know why  _(Y/N)_ won't leave her room no matter what Stark and I say," she growled. "I can't get her to unlock the door, and the window is completely dark. I don't know what's going on. What did you do?"

        "Romanoff," Steve greeted. "Fury didn't do anything. Let him go."

        "Well, you did  _something_ , because the only thing I could get out of her was  _your name._ Tell me what you did to her before I take matters into my own hands."

        Nick raised his hands in surrender. "We were arguing because she had decided to prioritize the search for her friend over our issue with Loki. I called off SHIELD searches this morning, so she went to Stark for help and he agreed to work with her. It escalated and she started to threaten me, so I reached back to grab my tablet, and she completely fell apart."

        "She fell back into one of the tables and went completely catatonic for a few minutes," Steve said. "Wouldn't move, wouldn't respond to anything, started hyperventilating. We snapped her out of it and she left. He didn't do anything on purpose."        

        Natasha hesitated, staring at Nick like he was going to confess before releasing the collar of his shirt and dropping him. She turned away, shaking her head and muttering under her breath before speaking again.

        "You should've known better than that.  _(Y/N)_  is... you have to be careful around her. So, so careful. The first time we brought her back to our apartment in Queens? I was trying to calm her down, so I touched her arm. Just a little, not enough for it to be significant. But she leaned into it, trying to draw it out as long as she could. Like a cat, actually. Nick, I thought she was touch-starved, but now I'm thinking that she might have received the  _wrong_ kind of touch for too long."


	21. Chapter 21

        _(Y/N)_ 's room on the helicarrier was much less welcoming than the one she had in the apartment. Clinical white walls, tile floors, and glass windows that made sure everything she did could be cataloged by people she would never meet didn't exactly make for a comfortable living space. Of course, some people would argue that beige walls, plain floorboards, and white sheets weren't comfortable, either, but then  _(Y/N)_ would have to laugh in their face and possibly murder them, and nobody wanted that.

        So, to avoid looking at the monstrosity that was her room, she did what she had always done when she had been back in the Black Order:  _(Y/N)_ turned off every light in the bathroom, bedroom, and hallway before locking the door and curling up under the bed with her switchblade clutched tight to her chest and her back pressed up against the wall. Cold soaked through the back of her shirt and sent shivers up her spine.

        But it was silent, and that was what mattered.

         _(Y/N)_ spent what felt like hours in her self-enforced prison, completely motionless in the dark corner of her room, trapped in the recesses of her mind. Every few minutes, footsteps in the hall alerted her of someone's presence, but they always kept walking. Voices drifted under the crack in her door.

        She ignored it all. After all, that was what she did. Ignore the problem until it went away. Bada-bing, bada-boom.

        Of course, in the end,  _somebody_ had to burst in and mess it all up.

        This 'somebody' announced herself with a loud knock on the door, the sound of a metal ring echoing under the gap and into  _(Y/N)_ 's room.  _(Y/N)_ winced.

        Natasha was outside, and out of all the people who could've come to check on her, she was just about the worst one to have come. Why? Because she never took 'no' for an answer.

        That was Natasha in a nutshell.

        " _(Y/N)?"_ She called, her voice soft. "Can I come in, please?"

        "Go away."  _(Y/N)_ pushed herself farther back and glared daggers at the door. "I don't want to talk."

        "We don't have to talk. I just want to come in, okay? Can I sit with you?"

        "Not sitting."

        "That's fine, I can stand if you want me to. Come on, _(Y/N)_."

        "No."

        "Open the door."

        "No."

        "Open it."

        "No."

         _(Y/N)_ shifted in her hideaway, stroking her fingers down the sharp blade of her knife and closing her eyes. Frustration was never an easy emotion to feel, and Natasha wasn't making her emotions any easier to deal with. 

        But, now that she thought about it, the company might not have been a bad idea.

         _(Y/N)_ sighed. "It's unlocked."

        The door clicked open and Natasha stepped inside, bringing a flood of light inside with her. The heels of her boots came into view, black leather matching neatly with the soft material of her pants. 

        " _(Y/N)_?" Natasha asked, her voice full of apprehension. "Are you in here?"

        For a moment,  _(Y/N)_ didn't want to answer. The embarrassment of being found hiding under her bed like a five-year-old kid who had just been scolded was too great. But then again, Natasha was Natasha. The would understand.

        Heaving a sigh, she rolled over onto her back and pulled herself out from under the bed as gracefully as she possibly could, one foot after the other. She sat up with downcast eyes and ran a hand through her hair, but the sensation of Natasha's gaze was too much to ignore.

        "Hey,"  _(Y/N)_ muttered. She looked up to meet her friend's eyes. "Sorry."

        Natasha's expression softened. "Don't worry about it. I understand how it feels to need a safe place. Trust me, I've done my fair share of hiding under beds."

        A quiet laugh echoed through the room.

        "Sure."

        "No, really. I was scared of thunder as a kid, used to wrap myself up in my sheet and hang out under my cot when nobody was looking. Weakness wasn't exactly  _praised_ where I come from. I bet you understand that, though."

         _(Y/N)_ climbed onto the bed and patted the seat next to her. Natasha sat down immediately, keeping a respectful distance of five inches and hunching over slightly so she could look her in the eye.

        "Yeah, I- I do. I wasn't allowed... wasn't allowed to be emotional. At all. It was... frowned upon. In a big way."

        "I'm sorry that you went through that. If I could ask... what was that back there? With Fury and the whole..."

        "Not my greatest moment. Sorry about that."

        Natasha rolled her eyes. " _(Y/N)_ , if you don't stop apologizing I'll kill you."

        "Sor-"

        "No. Just... explain it to me. Explain how I can help you."

        "Natasha, you don't-"

        "I do. I want to help you, okay? Please, just... just accept that people aren't all bad. You've been wronged, and I'm sorry, but I want to fix it. I  _can_ fix it."

         _(Y/N)_ huffed and unconsciously slumped against Natasha, her body sagging completely into her warm curves. And Natasha, surprised beyond belief at the uninvited physical contact, automatically leaned into her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

        They sat there for a few minutes, silently breathing each other in and just  _reveling_ in the peace that they found in the darkness. Because right there, right then, nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. It was just  _(Y/N)_ and Natasha, alone in a quiet room in a SHIELD helicarrier, preparing for battle against an ancient Norse god.

        "I get the feeling," Natasha said, turning to face  _(Y/N),_  "that you've never kissed anyone before. Would I be wrong to say that?"

        She blushed. "Not exactly, no. I've never actually been in a romantic relationship with anybody. There weren't many opportunities at the time when I would've been thinking of that sort of thing."

        "Would you be interested in kissing somebody now? Or being kissed by somebody, I guess. I don't want to overstep any boundaries."

        "I guess... I wouldn't mind being kissed. Theoretically. You know, just... yeah. I wouldn't mind."

        "That's good." Natasha leaned in. "Because I have half a mind to..."

        The rest of her sentence was lost, because in one impulsive, bold, terrifying movement,  _(Y/N)_ surged forward and pressed her lips against Natasha's. The taste of cherry-flavored lipstick filled her mouth in an explosion of sensation, staining her lips red and shocking her slightly so that she almost pulled away. Natasha stopped her with one hand, cupping the back of her head as she wove her other arm around  _(Y/N)_ 's back and wrapped her up in a tight embrace.

         _(Y/N)_ couldn't help it. She reached up and placed both of her hands- sans the knife, of course- in Natasha's flawlessly curled hair, burying them up to the wrists and massaging her scalp.

        Wow. So  _this_ was what a real kiss was supposed to feel like.

        Natasha pulled away, panting, and stared at  _(Y/N)_ with wide eyes and a quirky little smile. "You're _sure_ you've never kissed anyone? Because you've got the moves down pat."

        "That's... a good thing?"

        "It means you're a good kisser, Taeven. A  _really_ good kisser. And that means something, coming from me. Because in the league of kissers? I'm just about as good as it gets."

        "Getting a little cocky there?"

        "Nah, just honest. Seriously though, I was your first?"

        "You were,"  _(Y/N)_ confirmed. "I just... did what felt right, I guess."

        "That  _definitely_ felt right. Now, go clean up." Natasha grinned. "There's lipstick all over your face."

❖ ❖ ❖

        The two women made a reappearance on the bridge half an hour later, striding in together with fixed hair and newly-washed faces (although no amount of scrubbing had been able to get the red stain off of  _(Y/N)_ 's lips, so an executive decision- to finish the look- had been made). Natasha's signature red color was no longer signature.

        Tony and Steve, who had been conversing quietly at one of the round tables, looked up when they entered. The former just nodded self-righteously, smiled, and went back to flipping through his tablet and muttering to his partner, who pushed his chair away and stood.

        "Are you alright?" Steve asked when he reached  _(Y/N)._ "Tony and I were worried."

        "I'm fine," she replied. "Don't worry about it. All good."

        Natasha and  _(Y/N)_ shared a knowing look. 

        "No problems here. Crisis averted, emotions stabilized-"

        "Hotel, trivago."

         _(Y/N)_ squeaked and ducked around the punch that Natasha threw in her direction, narrowly avoiding her fist before cackling and skipping over to sit down in Steve's seat. Tony, who had been watching the proceeds in amusement, smiled his impish little grin before leaning over so that they couldn't be heard.

        "So, you and Romanoff?"

        "Excuse me?"  _(Y/N)_ asked, her cheeks the same color as her lips. "Me and Romanoff, what?"

        "You and Romanoff are a thing now?" Tony reiterated. "Come on, kiddo, fess up."

        "I don't know what you're talking about. She just came back to check on me."

        She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket, sliding it up and down nervously. Tony noticed.

        "Don't think I don't recognize the color lipstick you're wearing. That's MAC, matte, and the color is  _lady danger."_ He made air quotes with his fingers. "Pep uses it, and so does your newly-acquired girlfriend. You, however, didn't use it until thirty minutes ago when Romanoff went back to 'check on you', as you said, and came back with flawless hair and newly applied makeup."

        "That doesn't mean anything."

        "Puh- _lease,"_ Tony scoffed. "You're a good liar, lightbulb, but I wrote the  _book_ on lying about making out. And I know a post-makeout session fix-up when I see it."

        "It wasn't a  _makeout_ session. That's disgusting."

        He nodded sarcastically and looked down at his tablet, flicking his fingers back and forth over the pages. "Sure. I'll let you believe that."

        There was a moment of quiet, with both Tony and  _(Y/N)_ purposefully ignoring each other to avoid another awkward situation (well, only one of them considered it awkward. Tony thought it was hilarious, plain and simple).

        "So I'm going to cash in that favor now."

        "What?"  _(Y/N)_ asked, eyes wide as she turned to face him. "What favor?"

        "The one you owe me for my help with finding your friend. You know, that one."

        "Oh. Yes. Ah... what exactly would this favor entail?"

        Tony shrugged and held his tablet out for  _(Y/N)_ to take. "Nothing much. I may or may not have hacked SHIELD's servers and may or may not be conducting an extremely in-depth sweep of their files as we speak."

         _(Y/N)_  gripped the edges of the tablet and scanned the screen. Her eyes flicked over rows of statistics, images, and order numbers, but nothing seemed to be particularly off about the page, a fact of which she voiced immediately.

        "I know it doesn't  _look_ like it," he muttered, "but I know something's off."

        "You know  _I'm_ SHIELD, right? And high-ranking, too. Fury's partner, ambassador to space if it's ever needed... do you get my drift?"

        "Oh, I get your drift. But I have to say, 'ambassador to space' seems more like 'extra fighter' to me. Fury's roped you into something, kiddo, and I don't know if you're going to like it."

        "Fury gave me a job,"  _(Y/N)_ snapped. "And a home, and friends, and food. More than I could've ever dreamed of in my... in my other situation."

        "You seem defensive. But you have to have realized that  _something's_ off, right?"

        She thought for a minute, eyebrows furrowed. Now that she considered it, Fury wasn't exactly _open_ to her about things that she potentially needed to know, even though she was his partner and one of three Level Ten agents, one of whom she had never met (he didn't seem to be very involved in SHIELD's affairs). Maybe...

        "I guess. But-"

        Tony waved his hand dismissively. "Don't  _but_ me. Just tell me the truth. Yes or no?"

        "Y-yes. I think."

        "Great. So you know that, if something's off, we have to do something about it, right?"

        "Er-"

        "Exactly. Thank you. So I planted a hacking device on one of their monitors. It took a while to work, but it's definitely up now, and it's sending every little byte of information that SHIELD thinks they can hide to the tablet in your hands. All you've gotta do is help me figure it out."

         _(Y/N)_ placed her finger on the home button and double clicked it gently, scrolling through the different sites and pages and looking for the information she needed. As she searched, she asked, "Why would you pick me? Out of anybody on the team you could've picked, why me?"

        "Steve couldn't make technology work to save his life. Bruce specializes in bio stuff. Natasha's good, but she's scary and older. You're still practically a fetus, kid-"

        "Hey!"

        "Well, you are! And besides, you strike me as the sort of person who's willing to break rules and do things her own way instead of blindly following orders. That's something I value in a potential ally."

        "The ability to break rules?"

        "The ability to make decisions for yourself. Now c' mon, rocket girl, let's get this show on the road and get all of your boss's secrets out where they belong."

❖ ❖ ❖

        Everything was fuzzy.

        So, so fuzzy. Like pillow stuffing, padding every tangible surface of Clint's mind and effectively making it impossible for him to string together a pair of connected thoughts.

        He didn't know what was going on anymore. In fact, he hadn't known what was going on for several days. Everything was confusing and so, so wrong that Clint wanted to vomit.

        And he would've done so if he'd had control over his own body, but- of course- he didn't. Thanks to Loki and his odd scepter, every movement that Clint felt wasn't caused by his own body. 

        Loki had divulged to him, when they had a few minutes of silence, that the stone in the tip of his scepter was supposed to open up its victims' minds. To show them a different world, a better world. The world that he seemed to think he lived in and planned to create on earth.

         _Nah,_ Clint had wanted to say,  _not quite._

        Because that scepter did nothing but boot him straight out of his own mind and take it over. He had wanted to  _scream_ every time an arrow landed in the chest of one of those guards' chests, an arrow that had been loosed by his hands. Not by his brain, no, but by his hands. And that was enough, because maybe if he had just pushed a  _little bit harder_ , tried to be a  _little bit stronger,_ maybe those agents wouldn't be dead.

        Stuttgart had been a real awakening to Clint about the brevity of his situation. Sure, he had a god in his brain. That wasn't good. But, at the time, it had only been 'not good' for  _him._ Now, people were  _dead,_ and even more were in danger of joining them. It was up to Clint to do something about it.

        Not that he could, of course, seeing as he was trapped in his own mind and couldn't break out for the life of him. 

        Clint's mind-jail had manifested itself as a glass box. Five of the six walls were dark and solid, giving no allusion to a place outside, but the sixth... well, that was the kicker.

        It was like he was standing behind his eyes and looking out on the world around him. He could see everything that was happening- the helicopter blades, the agents preparing for battle, the helicarrier coming into view in the distance- but he couldn't control where he looked or whether he blinked or not.

        This scepter mind-control gig  _sucked._

So he fought, and he fought, and he fought some more, throwing himself bodily against the walls that held him in a futile attempt to free himself and fix the things he had done. Clint screamed, kicked, slammed his fists up against what he assumed was the frontal lobe in his brain, but there was nothing to be done.

        He was going to have to wait it out and pray that everything ended up fine in the end because there was no way he could free himself. 

        Clint sat back, exhausted, and watched in a dismayed stupor as the approaching helicarrier got closer and closer. Before long, they were practically upon it. The sound of rotors churning filled the air.

        Clint winced. He knew what was coming, knew what was going to happen before the senseless urge in his mind kicked back up again and forced him over to the controls of the large gun. Something in the back of his brain started to pull at him, wheedling away at whatever remnants of self control he still possessed.

        With an internal scream, Clint pulled the trigger.


	22. Chapter 22

        After the fight between  _(Y/N)_ and Nick, events on the helicarrier had gone back to normal (as normal as things could be when top-secret operations and battles with supervillains could be considered). Everything was quiet and calm, people focused on their own work, and peace reigned supreme.

        Ha. Ha. Ha.

        See, the one problem with 'minding one's own business' is that, when you've assembled a team of superheroes to fight evil, there are always going to be a few who see through what you've been trying to do and are able to pull the cloth from over their eyes.

         _(Y/N)_ and Tony were exceptionally bad at minding their own business.

        The only unoccupied area in the helicarrier was an r-and-b lab next to the docking bay, located on the underside of the ship. Armed with Tony's tablet,  _(Y/N)_ 's mightier-than-thou attitude, and a small box of sugarfree chewing gum (mint flavored, at Tony's request), they snuck into the lab and locked the door behind themselves before opening the tablet again and setting themselves to work.

        "You hacked SHIELD's servers using what?"  _(Y/N)_ asked, eyebrows raised. 

        "A device of my own invention. Blueberry?" Tony offered her a little silver pouch filled with berries. She smiled and refused it, shaking her head before looking back at the screen.

        "This invention, is it detectable?"

        "Eventually? Yeah, sure. Everything's detectable."

        "How much time are you giving me?"

        "Ten, twenty minutes. Give or take."

         _(Y/N)_ rolled her eyes. "You have to be kidding me, Stark. Covert operations like this normally take  _time._ SHIELD has hundreds of pages of information that I need to comb through to get the information you want, and you're giving me  _twenty_ _minutes tops?_  You do realize how  _insane_ that is, right?"

        "Of course I do. I'm a mad scientist, kiddo, insane is what I do. Besides, if anyone can do this, it's you and me. Hurry it up over there."

        "Shut up."

        "Not going to happen." Tony reached over  _(Y/N)_ 's shoulder and flicked his finger across the screen. "I'm putting this info up on our monitors so I don't have to get too close to you when we're working. You take the left side."

        She nodded and placed the tablet on the table, striding across the room to one of the holographic displays and carefully typing in an input code to unlock the server. A pageful of statistics and links popped up, codes like _36B08_ and  _2896ZC._ Things that had no meaning to her, words like 'Insight' and 'Hydra'.

        "You understand any of this?"  _(Y/N)_ asked, her voice carrying across the room to where Tony was working at his own monitor. "Because I sure as hell don't. Looks like Fury's been compartmentalizing more than we thought."

        "You don't know what  _any_ of this means? I thought you were on his level."

        "I am. I work with alien tech and black ops and whatnot. Apparently, he hasn't been telling me everything he should've been."

        "Well. That's... not good. Ah... oh! Bingo!"

         _(Y/N)_ turned at Tony's excited tone and made her way over to where he stood, peering over his shoulder at the display in front of her. He seemed to sense that she was there and magnified whatever had caught his attention.

        "Oh."

        A grid covered in weapons of different types filled the screen, arrows and lines accompanied by text paired with each one.  _(Y/N)_ edged around him, accidentally hip-checking Tony into a table, and raised her hands. 

        After a moment's hesitation, she began to type quickly, rotating the weaponry and carefully taking in every detail she could find. With every change in position, her heart sank further.

        "Well? Whatcha got?" Tony asked impatiently.

        "These are incredibly dangerous. Impressive, but still dangerous. Too dangerous to be in the hands of anybody, let alone a human. No offense," she said, "but you are a  _notoriously_ bloodthirsty race. Almost as bad as the Kree. I honestly couldn't think of a worse group of people to give these to, excepting the Black Order."

        "This is all french to me."

        "I don't know what that means, but I can assume that you don't understand what I'm saying. Don't worry, you don't need to. Just-"

        The door to the lab slid open, and- to both  _(Y/N)_ and Tony's dismay- Natasha, Steve, Bruce, Thor,  _and_ Nick stepped inside. A mix of emotions spread across the group's faces (Natasha seemed almost proud; Steve, Bruce, and Thor were confused; Nick looked irate).

        " _Heeeey._ " Tony grinned. "Capsicle, Rage Monster, Point Break, Eyepatch. Miss Romanoff. And how are we all on this fine day?"

        "Stark, get out of our servers. Now," Nick demanded. "Shut your program down."

        "Ah, can't do that. Sorry. Hey, did you guys know that SHIELD's been building weaponry? And nobody, not even lightbulb over here, knew? I mean, that's interesting, right?"

         _(Y/N)_ narrowed her eyes at Nick. "Why didn't you tell me about this? I mean, what could you possibly gain from building stuff like this?"

        "Protection against people like you, maybe," Bruce cut in with a glare. "We could clearly all use some of that."

        She returned his hostile expression and opened her mouth to argue, but Steve cut her off. "Fury, you've got weapons stored in the back of the helicarrier. Hydra weapons. Is there something going on here that SHIELD doesn't want us to know?"

        "It's just a precaution," Nick consoled (it sounded more like condescension). "The board wanted me to make sure that, in case of intergalactic war, we had artillery that would be able to match up to our adversaries. We are not alone in this galaxy, Captain, and present company has made that very clear."

         _(Y/N)_ wrinkled her nose. "Present company can hear you. And in this galaxy? You're most  _definitely_ alone. It's the universe that I'm worried about. There are a few groups of people out there that you  _really_ don't want to get involved with, trust me there."

        "Sorry if I think that's a bit of a long shot," Bruce muttered, prompting her to roll her eyes.

        "Can we not do this right now?" Natasha asked. "We have more important things to deal with than rehash something that barely affected you at all."

        "You haven't had her in your head, Natasha-"

        "Because I listen to what she says! Maybe if you had just-"

        "I'm not obligated to listen to anything that  _witch_ says-"

        "Watch it, bud,"  _(Y/N)_ hissed as the room around her dissolved into total chaos. "You don't want to see me when I'm angry-"

        "Yeah, well, neither do-"

        " _Bruce,_ just lay off!" Natasha exclaimed, having to shout over the sound of people arguing all around her. Tony and Steve were screaming at her from opposite sides of the room. Nick and Thor were having a similar argument, augmented by rapid hand movements and angry threats. 

         _(Y/N)_ kept her eyes on Bruce as they tossed insults back and forth, but a tug in the depths of her gut pulled her closer and closer to the scepter. She continued to back up as the argument escalated, one hand reaching back to grip the hilt, fingers practically  _touching_ the cold metal, ready to take it and defend herself-

        The entire helicarrier was shaken by a loud explosion, throwing the lab's occupants around like dolls and sending them reeling.  _(Y/N)_ flew straight into Natasha, reaching out instinctually to wrap her arms around the other woman's shoulder and pulling her close in midair. They slammed into the wall, sliding down to the floor as the helicarrier was righted and set back to the correct angle.

        "Are you hurt?" Natasha asked, panicked. She rubbed her arms up and down  _(Y/N)_ 's ribs and arms, checking for bruises or broken bones, as  _(Y/N)_ did the same.

        "Fine, I'm fine, don't worry. You?"

        "All good. What..." her eyes widened, showing dilated pupils and sudden realization.  _(Y/N)_ seemed to happen upon the same conclusion right away and jumped to her feet, grabbing Natasha by the arm and dragging her up as well.

        The two women spoke at the same time, ignoring the piles of groaning men on the floor around them before rushing out of the lab.

        " _Clint!"_

❖ ❖ ❖

        There was a very specific set of pathways that led to the cell blocks (or block, seeing as there was only one), and both  _(Y/N)_ and Natasha knew it perfectly. They raced through the corridors, pulling their respective weapons- Starkiller and a pistol- out as they moved in unison. Their bodies had tuned themselves so finely that no more than a fleeting thought was required to turn the corners or go around roadblocks (agents lying in the middle of the hallways seemed to be prevalent).

        Loki had adjusted his position in the time since Natasha had last visited him. His facial expression had changed from one of polite boredom to a triumphant sneer, and  _(Y/N)_ would've done anything to smack it off of his face right then and there. But, sadly, there was a job to be done.

        "Taeven, Romanoff," he greeted. "Kind of you to visit me during the last minutes of my imprisonment. I appreciate the sentiment."

        "You're going to be in there much longer than a few minutes,"  _(Y/N)_ snapped. "You know what's going on. You reached Clint somehow, told him our location. How?"

        "Ah, ah, ah, a magician never reveals his secrets." Loki wagged a finger in her direction like she was a child. "But it was simple, if you must know. Fury hasn't exactly  _perfected_ the care and keeping of gods, has he?"

        "We've never  _had_ a god here, and we don't have any now. Trust me."

        Natasha cut in before the conversation could get any more out of hand. "We're here for one reason and one reason only, Loki. We wanna know what you've done to Barton's head."

        Loki smiled and nodded. "I've expanded his mind, really. Quite simple. He can see so much more than simple mortals."

        "And what happens once you've won? What do you do then?"

        "I see," he said knowingly. "Is this love, Agent Romanoff? Love for the man I've taken from you?"

        "Love is for children," Natasha said calmly. "I owe him a debt."

        She missed the hurt look that  _(Y/N)_ shot her. Loki, however, didn't.

        "Taeven, darling, I didn't take you for that sort of a woman. Really, though, I'm not surprised. You fancy Natasha as your sweetheart, so much that jealousy has invaded your mind. I didn't know people without hearts could love."

        "We can't,"  _(Y/N)_ said spitefully, "and my love life is none of your concern. If I were you, I'd be worried about what will happen to you if you don't answer our question."

        "Very well. This debt, Romanoff. Tell me."

        Natasha hesitated before pulling a chair up from one of the walls and sitting.  _(Y/N)_ awkwardly did the same, watching Loki with a wary eye. 

        "Before I worked for SHIELD, I uh...well, I made a name for myself. I have a very specific skillset. I didn't care who I used it for, or on. I got on SHIELD's radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to kill me, he made a different call."

        "And what about you, darling?" He turned to address  _(Y/N)_ , who simply shook her head and smirked.

        "I'm not obligated to tell you anything."

        The helicarrier shook again.

        "Very well, then. I'll tell you what I plan to do to your precious Clint Barton, ladies, if you truly wish to hear it. You may find that you regret asking in the first place."

        "That's our call, and we want to know."

        "Your funeral." Loki shrugged. "But alright. I will not touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way that you fear. And when you're both dead, I'll let him wake up and see his work. The work he's done for me. When he screams, I'll split his skull, and that'll be three more gnats out of my way. That is my bargain, my friends, and you won't live long enough to see it come to fruition."

        Natasha pushed her chair away so hard that it fell onto its side, startling  _(Y/N)_ out of her horrid fascination. She turned, shaking, trying to compose herself (or that's what it looked like to Loki.  _(Y/N)_ , of course, knew better).

        "You're a monster."

        "No," he hissed, "you _brought_ the monster."

        Realization dawned in  _(Y/N)_ 's eyes. "Banner. That's your play." She pressed her fingers to her earpiece and stood, nodding at Loki with a little grin. "Loki plans to unleash the Hulk. Keep Banner away from all conflict and make sure he doesn't get out of the lab if he hasn't already. Send Thor to the blocks. Romanoff and I are heading up to the surface to deal with the conflict."

        Natasha turned, face devoid of tears, and inclined her head in a cocky bow. "Thank you for your cooperation. Now, we'll leave you here to think about what you've done. Miss Taeven?"

         _(Y/N)_ smiled and took Natasha's outstretched arm. "Why, thank you, Miss Romanoff."

❖ ❖ ❖

        The landing pad was, to put it simply, absolute hell. Everything had dissolved into complete chaos after the shots had been fired, sending what had once been a well-oiled machine spiraling down into an absolute mess.

        A few bodies were sprawled around on the deck. Some of them stirred slightly, but the majority of them were clearly dead- the arrows in their chests and heads made that clear.  _(Y/N)_ 's heart sank when she saw the familiar black fletching; Clint was definitely there.

        Without a second thought,  _(Y/N)_ raised her hands and reached out with her mind, solidifying a stream of air and sending it into a stack of shipping containers. They blew off the sides of the helicarrier and into the water, sending up splashes of white foam before sinking below the surface and disappearing. 

        She was barely able to avoid the arrow that hurtled out from behind where the containers had just been- and where Clint and several brainwashed SHIELD agents had been hiding. Natasha and  _(Y/N)_ separated, each jumping to one side, just in time to evade the brunt of the explosion that it sent up.

        Clint wasn't pulling his punches, and that was just about as bad as it could get. Because even in real fights, he always tried to avoid causing too much pain.

        Loki's brainwashing had been thorough. Whoever was in  _(Y/N)_ 's friend's body, it wasn't Clint.

        Natasha seemed to have the same thought because she immediately tossed her pistol aside, whirled around, and raced full-tilt toward the door.  _(Y/N)_ watched her go, dropping into a defensive crouch. 

        This wasn't Natasha's sort of fight, and she would be better off in another part of the helicarrier. It was, however, very much  _(Y/N)_ 's sort of fight- violent, direct, and bloody- so she had no qualms about staying behind and dealing with the invading agents.

        The only problem was that one of those invading agents was her obnoxious, coffee-loving, idiotic archer of a roommate, and- contrary to her plans- she may or may not have gotten a  _bit_ attatched so it wouldn't do to kill him. No, definitely not.

        That left several options, and none of them were good. So  _(Y/N)_ went with her all-time favorite (winging it entirely and pretending that she had planned it out hours ago).

        Quick as a flash, she ducked low and threw her hands out, ripping through the internal wiring of the helicarrier landing pad- sorry, Nick- and sending two of the agents over the edge and into thin air. The helicarrier was steadily rising into the air, and with a nervous gulp,  _(Y/N)_ realized that their altitude had risen from a few feet above sea level to at least one hundred yards up, if not more.

        Oh. 

        "Clint!" She shouted, fighting to be heard over the growling of the three functioning motors. "I know you can't hear me right now, but I need you to push through his control and come back to me!"

        The only response was another arrow, this one fletched with a dark green color. It flew over her shoulder and embedded itself in the crack that  _(Y/N)_ had just made with her wire trick, cutting so close to her ear that she practically  _felt_ the feathers brush her skin. Clint was always an amazing archer, but with Loki in his mind, his skill had increased to a terrifying new level.

        "I don't want to fight you!"  _(Y/N)_ backed up slightly, using a burst of air to throw another group of agents off of the helicarrier. For all she knew, they had already reached the inside, but that left her with only five regulars to deal with. Clint was, of course, going to be the biggest challenge.

        So, with a ruthlessly calm demeanor and a quick hand,  _(Y/N)_ swept the black-clothed men away to follow their compatriots. It was a simple movement- a flick of the wrist and a few finger-twitches- but it did the job, and soon enough, the only people on the top of the helicarrier were herself and Clint (who didn't look thrilled to have had his entire strike force incapacitated in less than three minutes).

        " _He-ey," (Y/N)_ crooned, trying for a winning smile. "Let's just calm down and figure this out, okay? I'll get Loki out of your head and we can just go back to normal. Sound good?"

        Apparently not, considering how Clint practically threw himself at her without a second of hesitation and absolutely no restraint.  _(Y/N)_ yelped and ducked under his fist, drawing a knife from her boot and tossing it to her other hand before stabbing down toward his bicep. It wouldn't be a deadly hit, but it would incapacitate him due to how much he used his bow.

        Unfortunately, Clint had anticipated her strike and was able to block it with his bow, locking the string around her free hand and pulling it over her neck in an attempt to strangle her.  _(Y/N)_ brought her left fist up and smacked him straight in the face, stunning him long enough for her to remove the bowstring from her neck and toss the bow where he couldn't reach. It skidded over to the edge of the helicarrier and teetered there, settling inches away from open air.

        "Clint, please! I don't want to hurt you!"

        There was no sign that Clint heard a word she said. Instead, he threw another punch in her direction, aiming for her jaw.  _(Y/N)_ dodged to the side- not enough, though. His fist slammed into her collarbone and glanced off, leaving a smarting pain and what would definitely be a bruise.

        She winced, reaching up to rub at the spot before glaring at Clint, unimpressed. "Is that the best you can do?"        

        Quick thinking was a wondrous thing. Without as much as a blink,  _(Y/N)_ whipped Starkiller from its sheath and neatly pommel-whipped him upside the head, slamming the hilt into his temples. Clint crumpled like a sack of rocks to the deck, his bones all but non-existent, and laid there in a heap of black.

         _(Y/N)_ sighed and crouched beside him, checking his pulse and nodding at the steady pace. She stroked his hair carefully, fingers weaving into the feathery strands, and smiled. Clint was safe, hopefully, and that was what mattered.

        Well, apparently not  _all_ that mattered. Her earpiece fizzled to life with a few cracks and Tony's voice filtered over the speakers, metallic and out of focus.

         _"Lightbulb, Capsicle, I'm going to need some help over here at the dead engine. If we don't get it working, this ship is going down hard. Do you read me?"_

With one last look at Clint,  _(Y/N)_ pressed a finger to her earpiece. "Loud and clear, Stark."


	23. Chapter 23

        _Bright lights and linen sheets with gold embroidery. An overstuffed pillow the color of clouds on a sunny day, almost silver on the edges. Red and blue ribbons on the edges of the bedspread._

_(Y/N), clothed in sleek leather and carrying her signature sword, creeps across the floor. But this isn't the twenty-one-year-old (Y/N)_ _that the Avengers know, pulled over to the light by an idiot with a walkman and her green sister. No, this is a fifteen-year-old girl, new to the killing field and prepared to stake her claim in the world._

_The mission is simple: enter, slaughter, get the message across, and leave. No witnesses. No playing around. Make sure they know who's done it, and that the culprit won't hesitate to do it again. To anybody._

_Well, maybe a little bit of playing around. Because this (Y/N) is angry. She's sadistic. She kills for the sake of pleasing her rescuer, and she loves the sake of the game. (Y/N) doesn't want to kill silently, she wants **screaming**_ **.** _She wants **pain**._

_And she gets what she wants._

_This particular victim is a man who got on Thanos' wrong side with the delusion that he would be able to protect himself, his wife, and his daughter. His futile attempt to up security around his palace is just that- futile. A few well-placed blows with her sword and (Y/N) had already bypassed the main gates and escaped with barely a hair on her head misplaced, leaving a trail of bodies behind._

_The room is dark, but the bathroom light is on. It gives (Y/N) just enough of a visual to slip across the room and flick the bedside lamp on, which casts an eerie red glow over the bed, where the offender lies (he's asleep). For effect, (Y/N) wills her circles to change to match them, adding to the hellish appearance given to the room._

_She smiles, reaches out, and taps him gently on the nose. Just a little touch, brushing her index finger across his skin, but it does the job. The man's lips twitch in his sleep, parting just long enough for a mumble to escape._

_"Marya?"_

_Oh, this is just too much. This doomed soul thinks his executioner is his beloved wife, and if that isn't the start of a game, (Y/N) doesn't know what is._

_Her smile widens slightly, showing a pair of flawless front teeth, and she leans forward to a position where her hair brushes against his cheeks._

_"Sorry to disappoint you, love," she croons in a quiet, terrifying singsong, her young voice sounding so much more sinister than it should. "Marya's not here. But I am, and perhaps **I** could suffice?"_

_A pair of eyelids flick open, revealing black sclera that somehow manage to embody the fear this man must be feeling. (Y/N) tilts her head to one side and giggles at the horrified sound that escapes his mouth before twirling her sword gracefully around her fingers and bringing the point down on his throat._

_Red stains the floor._

_The next room over is lighter, and the bed is covered into a rosy duvet that seems to be stuffed with cushioning. Judging from the elaborate mirror that hangs from the opposite wall, accompanied by a small army of glass perfume bottles in various shades of pastel blue and green, this is a woman's room- and (Y/N) knows that it's the mother's, because no self-respecting teenager puts a picture of her father in all of his military glory right above the head of their bed (she hopes. Thanos hasn't exactly given her much access to the outside world, so maybe that sort of thing is normal)._

_It's Marya, definitely, because the woman sleeping in the bed is much too old to be the dead man's daughter. (Y/N) cocks her head and sticks her lower lip out, contemplating a wave of auburn curls and some of the prettiest blue skin she's ever seen, before wiping the bloody blade of her sword on the pink covers and watching as it spreads through the fibers, mesmerisingly infecting every inch of fabric until the bedspread is crimson instead of rose._

_Interesting._

_It takes a few minutes for Marya to wake up, but once the metallic stench of blood reaches her nose, she's off like a shot. Obviously, the wife is more prepared for an attack than her husband was- late husband, that is- because she jolts off of the bed and races across the room. Her hand is on the door when_ _(Y/N) raises a finger and waggles it playfully, dark humor lacing her voice._

_"Ah, ah, ah, Miss Councillor. Naughty, naughty. Don't touch."_

_Marya, clearly surprised at the youth in her attacker's demeanor, pauses and turns around. Her fingers are only centimeters away from the knob, and as (Y/N) watches, they twitch closer and closer._

_"I suppose I should've been more specific." (Y/N) steps out of the shadows, tilting her sword so that the light shines off of its scarlet edge. "Don't touch unless you want to lose that hand."_

_Marya touches._

_The sword flashes._

_Two down, one to go._

_Now, this room definitely belongs to a teenage girl. The little figurines of people from different planets and the collection of leather jackets and strappy heels make that more than obvious, and a few tubes of lipstick on the dresser all but confirm it. The bed is covered by a canopy made of black lace, delicate and fairylike, and a knit blanket covers the sleeping figure._

_(Y/N) approaches in the darkness, and in the moonlight, she can see the girl's face. She must be sixteen or seventeen, just a bit older than (Y/N) herself, and **stars,** she looks like her mother. Blue skin, auburn hair, a delicate facial structure and high cheekbones..._

_Erya Cavys is the epitome of a gorgeous female._

_(Y/N) doesn't even bother to play with her food this time. She just raises her sword above the girl's neck and brings it down, and just as its blade bites into skin..._

❖ ❖ ❖

        " _(Y/N)?_ Honey, it's time to wake up, okay? You're alright, I promise, just wake up."

        A soft voice invaded  _(Y/N)_ 's nightmare, pulling her out of her mind and back into the land of the living. Natasha.

         _(Y/N)_ forced her eyes to open, wincing at the bright light, and stared at the bobbing head of red curls that invaded her vision almost immediately. Natasha looked worse for the wear, which made her wonder what exactly had conspired when she had been out of it- and, for that matter,  _how long had she been out of it_. Tired eyes, the slightest bit of bruising beside her nose, and a few nicks on her earlobe made that clear.

        "Did you get into a fight with a bobcat or something?"  _(Y/N)_ griped, her voice rough from sleep. She reached up and brushed a finger over the cuts on Natasha's ear and, without thinking, rubbed them gently with her thumb. A small streak of red came away on her skin. "You're bleeding."

        "How astute." Natasha rolled her eyes and fondly took  _(Y/N)_ 's hand in her own. "Yes. I am."

        "You didn't take care of yourself."

        "I didn't."

         _(Y/N)_ huffed, twisting around to face the other cot in the room- where she distinctly remembered Clint having been before she'd passed out. And yes, there he was, unconscious and tucked under a light sheet (it didn't do anything to hide the bulky shapes of a pair of fabric straps holding his wrists tight to the bed and another pair clenched around his feet).

        "Has he woken up yet?"

        "Not once. He's completely out of it, doesn't even snore like he usually does." A snort. "Bruce says he's trying to fight off the effect Loki had on his mind, get himself back under control."

        "Do they think there'll be lasting consequences?"

        Natasha sighed, the most defeated sound  _(Y/N)_ had ever heard come out of her mouth. She sat down on the edge of the cot, hands folded into her head, and nodded her head.

        "You should know better than anyone how manipulation in any form can affect people, and how long it can last. Here on Earth, we call it PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder. It's how your worst fears and experiences manifest. Dissociation, panic attacks, nightmares." She shot a pointed glare in  _(Y/N)_ 's direction. "Plenty of higher-ups at SHIELD have it, especially those of us who've been through some messed-up stuff. Field agents, stealth operators, Black Ops... the list goes on and on."

        "You think he's going to have it?"

        "I'm almost positive."

        Silence.

        With an attempt at casual conversation,  _(Y/N)_ asked, "So what else did I miss? I mean, Clint can't be the only new development. Any news for me?"

        Natasha's expression dropped almost immediately. "Nothing good,  _(Y/N)._ Nothing good."

        "Oh."  _If Natasha reacted that way, it had to be bad._ "Should I hear about this?"

        "Probably."

        More silence.

        "Are you going to tell me?"

        A sigh. "I was really hoping not to. Loki got away, alright? With the Tesseract. And... and the scepter. He... ah, he dropped Thor straight out of the bottom of the helicarrier in the Panic Room, provoked the Hulk, and...  _(Y/N)_ , Phil's dead."

         _(Y/N)_  heard the words. She understood them almost immediately- _Phil Coulson, SHIELD agent extraordinaire, was dead-_ but they didn't register. Dead. Dead. Dead.

        Or maybe they did.

        Death has an interesting way of revealing itself to loved ones and survivors, and that way varies with every one of those who were left behind. Shock, tears, anger, frustration, grief. None of them are wrong to feel, because eventually, understanding will dawn.

         _(Y/N)_ felt nothing.

        Faintly, she realized that Natasha had placed a small object in her lap, patted her shoulder gently, and left the room after locking the door. She looked down and stared at the reflective surface of the cell phone and the tangled earbud cords, eyebrows furrowed.

        Natasha's voice drifted in from the hallway, barely loud enough to be heard.  _"Just listen. Okay? Listen to your music."_

So she did.  _(Y/N)_ unlocked the phone and pulled up her playlists, compiled after months and months of listening to pop culture references from Clint and having to research all of them, before popping in the earbuds and pressing play. 

_Did you lose what won't return?_

_Did you love but never learn?_

_The fire's out but it still burns,_

_and no one cares. There's no one there_

        If only Peter had made it to Earth in some crazy way,  _(Y/N)_ would have been able to show him all of this new music that had been released since his last visit. He had missed out on so much, stuck with his songs about love and pina coladas, and she knew he would've  _loved_ everything that she had discovered.

        For that matter, if only _Ollie_ would make a miraculous reappearance so she could share everything she had learned and help him adjust to this amazing new life she had discovered. Clint would've loved him. Natasha would've full-out shovel-talked him.

        'If only'. There's not a more depressing phrase than that in the English language.

 _But did you see the flares in the sky?_  
Were you blinded by the light?  
Did you feel the smoke in your eyes?  
Did you, did you?  
Did you see the sparks filled with hope?  
You are not alone  
'Cause someone's out there, sending out flares.

❖ ❖ ❖

        Only minutes later,  _(Y/N)_ was called into the briefing room through the intercom, pulling her out of her music-filled reverie and back into a cruel reality that she didn't really want to exist in anymore. She pulled her earbuds out and left Natasha's phone on the side table before checking on Clint- he was still completely unresponsive, snoring lightly under the sheets.  _(Y/N)_ assumed that it was a good sign, but she didn't have any way of knowing whether or not it was positive.

        The walk through the helicarrier to the bridge was, in a word, depressing. The halls were almost completely demolished, littered with linoleum dust from crushed tiles and fallen bullets. Splatters of blood lined the wall that led away from the entrance (presumably from enemy agents), and bodies armored in black kevlar were scattered throughout the maze of pathways.

         _(Y/N)_ kept her head held high and didn't stray from her path. Her eyes were hard and unforgiving because  _it wasn't her fault_.

         _It wasn't._

Right?

        Yeah. Right.

        The bridge was in the same state as the rest of the helicarrier (one of disrepair). Steve, Tony, and Natasha were positioned at three of the four quarter-marks of the circular table, leaving one space for  _(Y/N)_. Nick and Maria stood behind the helm, comparing figures on tablets and adjusting their path with murmured whispers.

        Tony looked up when  _(Y/N)_ entered the room. He smiled slightly and gestured toward the extra chair, inviting her to take a seat, but didn't say a word. Steve and Natasha didn't look up.

        "What's our course of action?"  _(Y/N)_ asked roughly, walking over to where Nick stood. 

        He sighed and turned around, shaking his head. "We've taken a blow, Taeven. A hard one. Loki took what we had and left us with next to nothing. Nobody on this ship knows enough about him to do anything about it. We're reaching a point of no return in this fight."

        "So? I know enough about so-called  _alien_ warfare to figure this guy out, and if we find Thor and Bruce and give Clint time to wake up, we'll be able to reassemble. We can  _do_ this."

        Natasha looked up, lips pursed. "Funny time for you to become the team optimist,  _(Y/N)_."

        "You know what?"  _(Y/N)_ snapped, striding across the room and slamming her fist down on the table. Steve jumped at the loud sound. "I'm sick of you all acting like this is the end of the world as you know it. Loki steals a glowing Rubik's cube and a sharp stick and all of a sudden, the fight is over? You roll over and show your bellies? No, that's not how this is going to go, alright?

        "I am the only person on this team who is actively trying to fight this man right now. And I think that's really ironic because honestly, this isn't my fight."

        Steve bristled. "Listen, Taeven-"

        "Shut up, Rogers. Let me finish. This isn't my fight because there are hundreds of thousands of planets out there with intelligent life that I could go live on if I wanted to. I could leave right now if I wanted to, without even blinking an eye. I could leave and not even  _think_ of this place again, because you are the  _only_ people that Loki is going to effect.

        "But that's not where it ends. If Loki succeeds in taking over your planet and bringing the creatures that I think he plans to use here, a ripple of chaos will spread out from Earth. You  _will_ be its epicenter,"  _(Y/N)_ said firmly. "I know what's going to happen if we fail. And, trust me, we  _can't_. Failure is not an option.

        "So, are you going to fight with me, or are you going to go cower in a hole and cry? Because even if you don't fight, I plan to. And I'll do it on my own. Will you stand with me?"        

        Silence.  _(Y/N)_ surveyed the three faces in front of her, waiting for a reaction, expecting none.

        Steve was the first to push his chair away and nod. "I will."

        Tony. Natasha. Surviving SHIELD personnel. Nick. Maria.

         _(Y/N)_ smirked. "Well, then, we should probably get ready. Loki's got an army to face."

❖ ❖ ❖

        Thor stood in the field of flowers, eyes shut tight, hand outstretched in a hopeless gesture. Mjolnir sat in the dirt, its hilt resting on top of a patch of crushed daisies, tantalizingly close. It didn't move.

         _You're not worthy. You should've known that you weren't a long time ago, son of Odin. Everybody else knows it. Your brother, your mother, your father, Jane, the Warriors Three, Sif. They always knew you were going to fail. This is just proof. You've **never** been worthy enough to wield me, and you never will be._

"Yes, I am. I have to be. I  _have_ to be."

        Mjolnir's hilt slammed into Thor's palm.

        Electricity filled the air.

         _The fight has begun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used is "Flares" by The Script. I hope everyone's enjoying this story so far!


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